The Human Condition
by Margaux Chutney
Summary: Set in the present day, how would the lives of Peter and Assumpta changed had a particular event never occurred? And I'm not just talking about the dubious Season 3 finale... Now Complete
1. Chapter 1

The sun had yet to rise above the streets of Ballykissangel. Saner heads were still rested on bed pillows, dreaming of unfamiliar climes and times better than these. But not Assumpta Fitzgerald's.

Never an easy sleeper, she often found herself awake at this hour, nestling her head in the arm nook of the man beside her; watching the dawn break leisurely over the hills.

This was not one of those mornings as she found herself sat on the edge of the bathtub, willing a thin blue line to materialize on the pregnancy test she held.

_Positive, be positive_, she implored the test, and herself.

She was over a week late this time. That had to mean something, right? Her menstruation cycle had been decidedly erratic ever since her 39th birthday. _The beginning of the end,_ her doctor had warned. Time was running out.

Assumpta tried to ignore the panic rising in her throat but it was difficult. She'd never known how much she wanted a child until the possibility was being taken away from her.

_Be positive. Be positive. Be positive_, she chanted inwardly. She glanced at the clock: two minutes were up. Carefully she turned the thin plastic stick over in her hands.

No blue line. It was negative. It was always negative.

She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. _It doesn't matter_ her head tried console her, _there's always next month._

But was there, really? Assumpta didn't want to anticipate how many childbearing months she had left.

A gentle tap on the door broke her reverie. "Assumpta? Everything okay?"

"Fine" she asserted, wiping an errant tear from her cheek.

"Come back to bed," the voice chimed.

"In a minute."

Assumpta threw the test in the bin and studied her face in the mirror. She tried to see past the indentations forming along her brow, the laughter lines creasing the corners of her eyes.

_Laughter lines,_ she smirked thinking of her relationship with her husband. _That's a joke._

It was coming up to their 15th Wedding Anniversary and in the most part, they'd been happy. It was only in the last few years – when the baby fever began to take hold – that the arguments became more frequent; the meal times, decidedly quieter.

Washing her hands in the basin, she splashed cool water on her face and moved to rejoin him.

As she approached the bed, he turned and watched her undress, his eyes softening with comprehension.

"No cigar, this time?"

Assumpta shook her head, mournfully.

"Well, we can always get a head start on next time," he whispered playfully into her back.

"Shhh, it's not the right day"

"Well, practice then?" he smirked, pushing his hardening length into the crevice of her behind.

"That's not how babies are made!" Assumpta playfully slapped him, a smile forming on her face.

She turned to face her bedfellow. Time had been kinder to him than it had to her. His lines only added to the character of his face. He was still as handsome as the day they'd first met, she decided – and with his own hair, to boot!

Watching her frown lines crease as she studied him, her husband remarked, "You're so beautiful"

Assumpta grinned widely and kissed the end of his nose. "I love you, Leo." She whispered, snuggling toward his side of the bed.

Leo smiled, drawing her in closer. He couldn't imagine anyone could be as happy as he.

* * *

_Ah, who of you saw that one coming? I do wonder what would have happened had Assumpta stayed married to Leo. Where would they be in the present day? How will this have affected Peter?_

_Fair warning - i'm going to change the rating of this story to M in later chapters. Things are going to become pretty racy!_

_Next installment to follow shortly..._


	2. Chapter 2

Father Peter Clifford balanced precariously on the stepladder as he stretched to affix the banner to its post. _Just a little further,_ he willed his arms to reach, but as he strained, Peter felt the ladder tilt precariously from under him.

"Oh… whoa, WHOA!" he screamed, waving his arms furiously like a 50s slapstick comedy character.

"Hey! Easy there –" a voice called behind him as he felt someone grasp the backs of his legs. "Are you trying to end yourself?"

Assumpta grinned up at the Priest, who tried hard to ignore her hands riding up his thighs as she supported his descent.

Balance regained, Peter murmured a muted 'thanks' to which the landlady responded, "What's wrong? Ashamed to be saved by a girl?"

"No" he lied, his legs still tingling from the tight grasp she had on them. "Just embarrassed."

"So what's this in aid of anyway?" she indicated to the sign.

"Slave auction – to raise funds for the Cilldargan hospice."

"Oh no – seriously? Again?"

"What? It's a good cause."

"It's not the cause I'm berating, just the means."

Peter sighed, "I was hoping we could rely upon your services – "

"You'd be a bit bloody hopeful"

"Not as a slave" he clarified, keeping his mind from recalling his childhood Princess Leia fantasy "For the bar – I was hoping the behemoth could donate a barrel of two."

Assumpta laughed at his description of the pub. It was true – the last decade had been especially kind to her business. A BBC drama series had filmed in the village in the late nineties and Fitzgerald's, with its distinctive yellow façade, was its primary setting. Leo had shrewdly insisted that they invest the money they earned for this in refurbishments to the pub's accommodation – a move that paid dividends when the show's fans descended.

In a few years, the pub went from a small family business to Wicklow's most successful enterprise. Brian Quigley was green with envy.

"I suppose I could stretch to a firkin of stout."

"And lager – " Peter pushed, flashing his most mischievous smile.

Assumpta's heart melted. How could he still do that, after all of these years? "You drive a hard bargain, Clifford. Tell you what, I'll include the lager _and_ my services if you do something for me?"

"Name it," he agreed, with glee.

"Come to the pub tonight and collect glasses for me"

"Seriously? That's all? I'm a curate with over twenty years experience – I can recite the bible from heart. I can perform weddings – I could marry you and I right here and now," he teased.

"I'm already married and my punters don't much care much for scripture," she retorted "Not on a night out anyway."

He laughed, heartily as Assumpta continued. "What I do need is a glass collector. Leo is in London until Sunday and Niamh is well, enormous."

"Oh, well if I must"

"And don't think I've forgotten about the hours you owe me from the last Slave Auction – your arse is mine, Peter Clifford."

He wiggled it cheekily as he walked away, promising to be there at eight.

* * *

Assumpta considered their friendship as she walked leisurely back to the pub. In the years she had known him, Peter had become a cherished friend. It was a happy turn of events, following the confusion that ensued after her marriage. Although the pair never confronted the feelings that for a long time, threatened to bubble to the surface, they salvaged what they could from their relationship and managed to remain firm friends.

Despite being perfectly open about all other aspects of her life, Assumpta never shared with Peter her relationship woes. It wasn't appropriate, she reasoned, and how could a Priest empathise, anyway. The few times she'd tried to bring the subject up, he'd deflected her with good humour.

It was unfortunate because at this moment in time she could really do with his counsel in this respect.

The latest negative pregnancy test had been the straw that broke the camel's back. The natural method wasn't working and despite the countless fertility drugs, special diets and loose-fitting underwear she and Leo endured, month after month that little plastic stick yielded the same result.

She'd tried to voice her concerns with her husband earlier that week but to no avail:

_"Can't we speak about this when I get back?" he'd begged._

_"There's never the time – this is serious."_

_Leo stopped what he was doing for just enough time to console his wife. "Look, it'll happen. We just need to try and stay positive." _

_"I can't anymore –" Assumpta held her hands in her head. "We need to discuss other options."_

_Leo felt his temper rise "You're not still harping on about donors are you?"_

_"Well, it's not me with the problem," she'd snapped, without thinking. _

_A wounded look flashed across Leo's face but he quickly regained his composure. "We'll talk when I get back," he promised, through gritted teeth._

As hurtful as her attack on Leo's virility had been, she had been accurate in her assessment of their situation. Assumpta had endured weeks of tests. She was prodded, poked and examined in the most intimate of places; she'd had first opinions, second opinions and third, all yielding the same result: she was perfectly fertile.

Leo must be the one with the problem.

They'd gone over all of their options with a fertility specialist in Dublin. IVF was too expensive, surrogacy, too risky. In a private conversation in the dead of night, Leo and Assumpta had decided that adoption wasn't for them. Besides, a couple in their forties with a business to run – a pub, no less – were not the most desirable candidates for an agency to consider.

Donor sperm was their only option.

"But not just any donor," Assumpta maintained later that night, to her friend Niamh. "I couldn't just settle for any old seed."

Niamh helped herself to another chocolate hob nob and with a full mouth, asked, "How do you mean?"

"Well," the publican started "For a start, I couldn't go the anonymous route. Crazy, I know, but I need to know the person who gives this to me. I need to be sure that they've no axe-murderers lurking in their family tree."

Niamh laughed, "I think they run checks for that sort of thing."

"Still" she returned, "I'm bringing this person's child into the world, you know. It needs to be someone I trust. Someone who won't insist on custody rights in a couple of years."

"Slim pickings"

Assumpta nodded. "I know."

"I'd lend you Ambrose if I thought you'd agree – he's certainly fertile." Niamh joked, indicating to her ever-expanding belly.

Her friend laughed, "I think five little Egans are more than enough"

At that precise moment, Peter poked his head around the kitchen door. "Alright boss, where shall I start?"

Niamh's eyes widened and nodded towards the curate, "Say, Peter any axe-murderers in your family?" she jibed, collapsing in fits of giggles on the table.

Peter stared dumbfounded at her from the door, until Assumpta explained, "Don't mind her, pregnancy hormones" and walked him to the bar.

* * *

The pub had been unusually quiet for a Friday night in high season but Peter still managed to look busy, spreading his attention between glass collecting, polishing and even the occasional pint pulling, much to the amusement of the pub regulars.

"Father Mac would be turning in his grave if he saw this," chirped Padraig upon receipt of his second, perfectly poured stout from the Priest.

"I think that I caused enough grief in his lifetime for him to fully expect this," replied Peter, remembering the cantankerous old soul fondly.

"To Frank," Brendan charged his glass and the others followed suit.

Peter raised his glass towards Assumpta but she was too lost in her own thoughts to reciprocate.

While all of this was unfolding, the landlady couldn't help but assess her friend from afar. She'd never realised just how tall and athletic Peter was. An avid runner ever since his grueling training programme for the Wicklow Charity Marathon in 2005, Peter had developed compact muscles in his arms and an enviable washboard stomach, evident when he reached up to the very top glasses shelf.

When she'd prevented him from falling earlier in the day, Assumpta had discovered first hand the sheer length and girth of his muscular thighs…

_Don't go there_, she chided her wandering mind. _He's Peter. He's your friend. _

But there was no escaping that he was a fine specimen of man. Like Leo – and indeed, all of the men of Ballykissangel, the curate didn't look even close to his 45 years. His salt-and-pepper hair added an air of distinction; his laughter lines, geniality.

She couldn't deny it: Peter had incredible genes. _Imagine those bright blue eyes on a child?_

Peter caught Assumpta studying him. He pulled a face to disguise his embarrassment at her lingering looks, to which she laughed, heartily.

_Come on, Assumpta. Pull it together. _

* * *

After the last customer left, Peter remained behind at the bar.

"Well, consider our debt well and truly settled," Assumpta told him, casting an approving eye over the spotless pub. "I think I owe you a pint."

"Just a pint? I thought I'd earned at least two kegs' worth…"

"Don't push your luck," she warned.

They sat in an easy silence, each left to their own musings. Assumpta mulled over Niamh's joke earlier than evening. Peter really would make an incredible father.

"Ever wished you'd had a family," she asked, unexpectedly.

Peter eyed her, flummoxed by her inquiry. What a question. "Erm, well unless they changed the rules without telling me, it's a bit of a moot point."

"In theory, I mean." The publican blushed. "Say, if some old girlfriend came out of the woodwork."

"She'd have to be pretty old." He joked. "The child too, come to think of it."

Playfully slapping him, Assumpta added seriously, "You'd have been a great Dad and it's not just me who thinks so. Half the village have you as Godfather to their wains."

He considered her original question and answered, honestly, "It's one of my biggest regrets."

Assumpta, impressed by his candour, refilled his drink. "Here, consolation prize," she said, handing him the beer.

Peter smiled warmly. "Why do you ask?"

Taken aback by his question, she busied herself with wiping the already spotless bar.

"Assumpta?" Peter reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb along the crest of her forefinger. "Is there something wrong?"

_Candour._ She took a breath. Peter was honest with her, the very least she could do was to pay him the same courtesy.

"I don't think I'll ever have a child."

The Priest sat back in his chair, lamenting his previous question. Did they have to go there, really? But encouraged, Assumpta was an exploding hydrant of information "I mean, I can still – it's medically possible, just about. It's just Leo – I think there's a problem with him…"

Peter's eyes widened at his revelation. As loathe as he was to admit it, something inside him sang with joy when the man's virility was called into question.

"We aren't able to conceive the natural way," Assumpta clarified. "And now, Leo won't even talk about the alternatives."

"Alternatives?"

Assumpta felt her face redden, "Well, there's just one really. To use a donor."

"And Leo isn't keen on the idea?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what to do," she added mournfully.

"Children aren't everything – you can have a full and happy life without them." Peter volunteered, in earnest.

"I want to be a mother." She answered simply, her face breaking into tears.

"Hey – come here" he said, pulling his friend into his arms. "You'll make an amazing mum, I know it"

"Chance would be a fine thing," Assumpta retorted, acerbically.

Peter held her head between his hands and chastised her. "This will happen for you, Assumpta. You have to believe it."

Assumpta studied his mouth as he spoke the words. For a split second, she fully expected him to kiss her, poised as he was, mere centimetres from her lips.

Instead, Peter pulled away. Taking a long drag from his pint and consequently downing its contents in one, he got up to leave. "You'll be okay?"

"Yeah," she relented, genuinely appreciating his concern.

As she walked him to the door, the same thought reverberated repeatedly through her head. _Ask him. Ask him now._

Cursing her clouded judgement, she kissed him affectionately on the cheek before sending him into the night. He lingered at the door for a moment, as if deciding upon the perfect moment to speak. Assumpta looked at him searchingly.

"You know, I'm here for you," he eventually said. "I'll always be here for you."

Assumpta stared up at him. How could he know? How could he realise what was currently at the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken?

The moment passed and Peter left, pulling his collar up against the cool night air as he made the short walk to the Rectory.

The publican remained at the door even after he was out of sight, the same idea reverberating through her head.

_It should be Peter. She should have Peter's child. _


	3. Chapter 3

Assumpta poured herself a generous mug of coffee. Sleep had proved illusive for the past two consecutive nights. Still fixed in her decision to ask Peter to be their sperm donor, she'd been mentally preparing herself for the argument with Leo that would inevitably ensue.

She'd been especially amenable toward her husband since he returned from work in the city. A columnist for one of the more fashionable London broadsheets, he'd negotiated a unique arrangement with his Editor that enabled him to work from home for three weeks out of every month.

For Leo, this was the best of both worlds. He could immerse himself fully in the country idyll he'd built with his wife, while still keeping a hand in city life. If it weren't for the baby mania, his life would be just about perfect. And that, with time, would run its inevitable course and once again, they'd be happy; just the two of them. As it should be.

Looking up from his iPad, Leo couldn't help but notice the special effort his wife had made with her appearance today. Her hair, freshly coloured in a rich, chocolate brown cascaded in loose waves below her shoulder blades. On her body, hung a black, barely-there dress, which skimmed her toned physique in all of the right places.

"Special occasion?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Not especially," she replied, "I just think it's nice to look good for your husband."

"Too right," he agreed mischievously, giving her a playful slap on the bottom.

"Dinner is almost ready," she announced, moving his lingering hand away. "Beef Wellington with Potato Fondant and a rich, red wine jus."

Leo eyed her suspiciously. "My favourite," he declared. "C'mon, out with it wife – what do you want. A new car? Another trip to Antigua?"

Assumpta took a sharp intake of breath. "A baby," she asked, honestly.

She watched her husband's face cloud over. "I don't think you can put that on Mastercard."

"No – but there are other ways." She offered, hopefully.

Leo sighed. He knew what was coming next. "Assumpta, we spoke about this. I'm just not comfortable with you using some random donor – "

"He doesn't have to be random" she interrupted. "I already have someone in mind."

"Who?"

"Peter?"

Leo tried to suppress a smile. "The curate?"

"Do we know another?" she answered agitatedly over his laughter. This was not the reaction she'd expected.

"He's a Catholic Priest!"

"He's also our friend."

"And what does he say – our Priest friend? Is he up for the challenge?"

"I haven't asked him," she declared, indignantly. "This has the be a joint decision."

Leo felt like all of his Christmases had come at once. Assumpta had set her sights on the one person who'd have no choice but to refuse. Once he did, Leo was positive that this donor business would finally be put to rest.

Assumpta was reeling off the pros at speed – _he's unattached, he's discreet. He'd have as much to lose as they did if this arrangement got out…_

"Tell you what, Assumpta." Her husband interrupted "You get Father Peter on board and as far as I'm concerned, he can deliver the goods himself."

The publican clicked her tongue in disgust at his intimation, but she was secretly doing cartwheels inside. _One down. One to go._

* * *

Over dinner, Assumpta considered the best way to proceed "When shall we ask him?" she inquired, with a mouth full of mash.

"Peter? No time like the present."

She took a breath. Could she really do it? Today – a Sunday – of all days! Picking up on her reservation, her husband offered "Or, if you think we should just forget it, that's fine too."

"No, today's as good a day as any. I ovulate in three days so we might be able to catch that window."

Leo snickered into his wine. _This was going to be good._

* * *

Peter poured the remainder of the holy water down the toilet. It felt sacrilegious to do so, but today's Christening had resulted in a minor accident of sorts, all over the font, the altar and the Priest.

_Occupational hazard_, thought Peter happily, thanking his lucky stars that it would never be a daily recurrence for him.

When he returned to the Church, he spotted two Parishioners were now sitting in the back row.

"I was just about to lock up – " he began, but upon seeing their faces, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Assumpta?"

"Nice to see you Father." Leo held out his hand to the Priest.

"Leo!" Peter overcompensated his previous omission. "Not often I see the pair of you here."

"We were wondering if we could have a private word." Assumpta asked, shakily.

"Of course," Peter showed them into the Vestry. "Please, sit."

For a while, neither party spoke. Throughout the course of their marriage, Leo and Assumpta hadn't once sought the Priest's counsel as a couple. It seemed awkward somehow – inappropriate, given Peter's history with the publican. He didn't know how much Leo knew about his former feelings for the man's wife, but something told Peter that sometimes it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

It was Assumpta who, albeit nervously, broke the silence. "The other night, I told you about the problem's we'd been having with starting a family."

"Yes" Peter nodded warily, trying desperately to keep his gaze away from Leo.

"Well, after you left, I couldn't sleep." She took a breath. "And I couldn't sleep last night either. The same thought keeps going around my mind – so obvious, it seems ridiculous that it's only just come to me now – "

"Go on," he implored following her pause. Where were they going with this?

"A solution," she revealed, "an answer to all of our problems."

Assumpta held the curate in her view, as if imploring him to catch on to her meaning.

_Surely, they couldn't be asking…_

Peter allowed his eyes to fall on Leo who, unbelievably, looked as if he were suppressing laughter.

When he snapped them back to his friend, she was doe-eyed and beseeching.

She gripped Leo's hand. "We'd like to ask you for a favour. An incredible favour, which I know you'll need some time to think over."

Peter stared at her aghast.

" – but time is the one thing we don't have. I need an answer soon – in the next day or two if possible.

"Assumpta – " he warned. _Please stop now. _

"Will you be our donor?" she asked, suddenly.

And there it was. The question hung in the air, unanswered for the longest while. Leo's suppressed smile was now a full-blown grin. Peter inwardly steamed at his insensitivity, wishing momentarily he could answer in the affirmative to her incredible request, if only to see the look on his face.

But he couldn't. It was too much. Church law aside, he couldn't even begin to fathom the logistics of what she asked of him. How could he create a child with Assumpta – a woman he still, if he were perfectly honest, harboured feelings for – and watch her raise it with another man.

It was impossible.

"Assumpta –" he tried again, but the landlady ignored him.

"We'll cover your expenses of course – your travel to and from the fertility clinic – and once it's done, I'll be inseminated. Then, hey presto, we'll have our baby."

"Assumpta –" Peter interrupted again, his voice thick with regret.

"It'll be weird at first, I know, but we'll make it work. We'll be grown up about it. No one has to know – Leo and I will sign anything you like to ensure confidentiality."

Before Peter had the chance to open his mouth again, Leo squeezed his wife's hand to prevent her from going on. "Love – can't you see, the poor man is trying to say something."

Assumpta paused, her eyes downcast as if expecting the inevitable. "Speak." She willed him.

Peter studied her face, revealing still a glimmer of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation. More than anything he wanted to do this for her, to give her this, but the Priest in him knew that he couldn't.

"I wish I could, I really do…"

Assumpta let out the breath that she'd been keeping and collapsed back down in her chair, crestfallen. "But you can't, I know – I understand."

Peter felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. He hated what his words had done to her, but he hated the glee plastered over Leo's face even more.

"C'mon love. Let's go. Leave the man to his Sunday."

Peter walked them out, placing a single hand on Assumpta when he knew Leo was out of earshot. "I'm sorry, you have to believe me – I would, if I…"

"Could, " she finished. "I know. I'm sorry that I put you on the spot. Really I am. But Peter, please – consider this."

"It's impossible."

"Your biggest regret…" she whispered, mirroring his earlier words. "Just think about it."

The curate watched them leave, her departing words still reverberating through his mind.

_A child. His child. With Assumpta. _

It was too much to hope for.

Closing and locking the heavy Church door behind him, Peter allowed himself a moment to luxuriate in the possibility of saying yes.

* * *

_So, what do you reckon he'll do?_

_Thanks to my lovely, lovely reviewers - particularly the M-rated cheerleaders. Glad the potential for saucy content has been so well received! And Bridget - you're on to me regarding the Leo plot twist. _

_Feedback always, always welcomed_


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Fitzgerald's was a hive of activity. The village Stitch-and-Bitch group were crossing knitting needles and gossiping in the far corner while a fresh batch of tourists were booking in to the Fitzgerald Holiday Lets in the outbuildings behind the pub.

Assumpta was grateful for the distraction. Humiliation didn't come close to how she was feeling at this moment of time. Her fixation on becoming pregnant – her obsession with it – had very likely ruined the best friendship she'd ever had, a suspicion confirmed when Peter neglected to come in for his usual 2 o'clock sandwich.

She remembered his eyes vividly as she danced around the question. _Don't ask me – please, ask anyone but me. _

_You're the only one I can ask. _

Leo had been especially kind to her on the way back. He spoke at length about how children weren't the be-all and end-all of everything. Their lives had been pretty great up until now – they'd travelled; they had nice things. Wouldn't a child only wreck that?

The phone rang, instantly pulling her from her musings. "Fitzgerald's" she answered automatically.

"Assumpta?" Oh. God. It was Peter.

"I didn't expect to hear from you – "

"I wanted to check in – see if you were okay?"

She tangled the phone cord with her right hand and answered, noncommittally "I'm working."

"I know. I know." He sounded nervous. "Do you have any time? I'd like to see you."

Assumpta tried to gauge his tone. "Why?" she offered, warily.

"For pity's sake, Assumpta I'm still your friend." Peter checked himself. "Aren't I?"

"Of course. Of course you are. I'm just still a little embarrassed."

He tutted. "Don't be. You have no reason to. Look, can I meet you out front, by the bridge in say, 20 minutes?"

She agreed immediately and replaced the receiver, relief coursing through her veins. _At least he doesn't hate me._

* * *

Peter left for the bridge as soon as he hung up the phone. All morning he'd kept himself cooped up in his office, trying desperately not to think of the one thing she had wanted him to.

All night he had vacillated from one scenario to the other, weighing out the pros and cons, preparing a mental list of the repercussions behind any choice he made.

It was without a doubt the most difficult thing anyone had ever asked of him. Harder still, perhaps than his decision, all those years ago, to go on Retreat rather than stay and fight for Assumpta.

_She certainly didn't make his life easy. _

Peter had often wondered if he'd chosen correctly back then?

He certainly hoped so. Life would have been decidedly different had he not gone away. But he was happy with his life – they both were, it had seemed. His feelings for Assumpta back then were so charged, so intense, Peter doubted that their relationship would have survived had he succumbed to temptation. They certainly wouldn't have the close friendship that he cherished today.

No, he chose well. And he sought counsel for that decision in the same place that he sought counsel for this one. The Church.

Without its teachings to fall back on, Peter had nothing. His emotions were too erratic when it came to Assumpta. In all honesty, he'd award her anything if he went on gut instinct alone. No, he had to go with his training on this one. He had to go with what was right.

In the open air, the Priest was even more resolved in his decision. It would hurt her to hear that he hadn't changed his mind. Of course it would – momentarily. But it was the right decision. Surely she'd understand that?

Peter gripped the bricks on the bridge for encouragement. He had to do this. It was right.

A child's laughter gave him cause to turn. Niamh and Ambrose were taking their brood to Kathleen's. Aoife, their youngest, and the only one of the Egan clan to have both Peter and Assumpta as godparents, squealed at delight upon seeing her godmother. He watched as Assumpta squatted down to her level, allowing the child to run eagerly into her arms. Together they swung around in circles, Aoife leaning her head into the crook of Assumpta's neck. She looked so happy. She looked so natural.

_You'll make an amazing mum, I know it. _

The memory of his words caught in Peter's throat. What if she couldn't? What if she never gets the chance? When Assumpta caught up to him, his eyes were already stinging with tears.

"Okay," he mumbled, simply.

At first she didn't hear him. She didn't understand.

"Okay," he said louder, searching her eyes for the question she had already asked him.

"Okay?" she returned, warily. Surely this didn't mean…

"Okay." Peter mouthed again, with a renewed sense of determination – of confidence.

Wrapping herself in Peter's arms was a bold move for a married woman to make in the broad light of day, but Assumpta didn't care. She kissed him on the chest, on his cheek and on his temple. "Thank you," she whispered through tears, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Peter immersed himself in her touch, momentarily wishing it would continue for longer than the 30 seconds that it did.

_Oh, boy. Was he in trouble._


	5. Chapter 5

Assumpta practically danced back to the pub later that evening. After the bridge, Peter and she had driven into Cilldargan to grab an early dinner and discuss logistics for the _transfer_, so to speak.

Their table at Birdies café was nestled among a restaurant full of grey-haired pensioners who regularly took dinner at this hour. Peter, hiding his dog collar behind a thick, roll-neck Fisherman's jumper felt like they were spies, plotting an embassy take-down.

_Or a married woman and a Catholic Priest planning on having a baby. _

He smirked at the prospect. The papers would have a field day if they got hold of this!

"So, the next window of opportunity is in two days actually – do you think you could make the trip to Dublin then?"

"Two days – that's Wednesday, right?" Peter checked his Blackberry. "Ah – problematic. I have an Animal Service that day."

Assumpta stifled a giggle. "Animal Service?"

"Yeah" he replied, indignantly. "Parishioners bring their pets in to be blessed." Now his companion was outwardly laughing. "It's an important service! It brings a lot of comfort to people," he maintained.

"Okay, okay – I'm sorry. Just answer me this: do the sheep take communion?"

Peter blushed. "Yes – there is a sacrament of sorts…"

At this, the publican exploded into laughter, much to the annoyance of their fellow diners. The Priest grinned mercilessly. She really was beautiful when she laughed.

"Can you get anyone to stand in for you?" she asked once she'd regained control of her faculties again. "Another scarecrow, perhaps? A shepherd?"

He sighed, "I guess Father Matthew from St Andrew's could step in just this once."

"Great. Good. That's settled then." She took a bite of her ravioli and a sip of wine. "Wednesday."

"Wednesday," he repeated, feeling his heart swell in anticipation.

* * *

When she returned to the Pub, Leo was already in bed. She crept across the bedroom floorboards towards the en-suite, her head dizzy from the effects of the several bottles of wine she and Peter had imbibed.

"You're late," Leo mumbled from beneath the eiderdown.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," she whispered, overcompensating with her hushed tones.

"And drunk too," he observed with mirth.

"Maybe a bit."

"Ha – on a school night as well. Nicely done." Leo pulled his wife into bed next to him, nuzzling at her hair. "Out with the girls?" he guessed.

"Peter, actually." She felt her husband stiffen. It was now or never. "He said yes."

For the longest moment, Leo didn't say anything. Maintaining his hold on her back, he asked nonchalantly, "Yes, to what?"

"Leo!" Assumpta chided, pulling away. "Yes to joining the bloody circus – what do you think he agreed to?"

The man climbed slowly out of bed and wrapped his dressing gown around him.

"Aren't you pleased?" his wife inquired, perplexed. "This is what we wanted."

"What you wanted, Assumpta."

"Look, I know the reality of the situation can be daunting but this is good news. We're one step closer to getting our baby."

Leo shivered at her choice of words, "Don't you mean your baby? And the Priest's…"

With a sharp intake of breath, the publican tried to get a hold of her anger. "I don't understand – we spoke about this. You agreed – "

"Because I thought a Catholic Priest would be the last person to consent to anything this crazy. I mean, didn't he take vows that ultimately forbid something like this?"

Assumpta held her head in her hands. Were they really doing this – now, of all times? "He's making an exception"

"Good to know that the Catholic Church lets you pick and choose like that."

"There's no need to be spiteful. He's doing us a favour."

Leo didn't respond. Instead he exited the room and paced down the stairs, stopping momentarily at the drinks cabinet. Assumpta followed suit and lingered on the stairs.

"Have you changed your mind?" she asked him, warily.

Taking a long sip of his whisky, he considered her question for a moment before answering, "There's nothing to change."

She sunk down to the centre of the stairwell, her worst fears confirmed. "Did you ever want this baby?"

"Not like this."

Assumpta's world crashed around her. Searching her mind for a solution, she blurted out, "Then what about IVF? It's expensive, sure but we have money. We'll just sell something. My clothes, your car –"

"I'm not selling my car!" he assured her.

"The business then. Brian's always wanted to become a partner – we can raise the money somehow."

"It's not that simple."

"It is Leo, we can find a way –"

"No, Assumpta, listen. It's not that simple."

From the way he enunciated every last syllable Assumpta knew what was coming.

"I've had a vasectomy," he revealed, his eyes cast down towards his drink.

"I'm sorry?" she uttered, although she'd heard him perfectly.

"Sterilised, Assumpta. I can't have children. Even if I wanted them."

The sharpness of his final words cut her like a knife. "When?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

Leo didn't answer right away. He didn't have to; the guilt was plastered all over his face.

"When?" she demanded, angrier this time.

"Three years ago."

If Leo had hit her square across the face with a brick, it would have hurt less. Three years ago? When they'd begun this journey. When she'd stopped using contraception.

"I don't understand – I thought that you wanted this?"

"No, Assumpta – you did, you wanted this. I was just there for the ride!" he spat. "We'd had twelve happy years without children. We'd built a home together – a life together – and then one day, out of the blue, you decide that you wanted to wreck that…"

"We decided," she clarified, but her memory couldn't confirm this. She shook her head in frustration. "If you were so against the idea, why did you follow all of the advice with me? Why on earth did we visit that goddamn fertility specialist?"

"I was just going through the motions. I thought –" he paused, contemplating his next words carefully. "If we went through hoops, looked as if we were giving it our best shot, you'd grow tired of the idea eventually."

Assumpta sank further into the stairwell, her world demolished around her. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

"You ever tried telling yourself anything?" Leo smirked, sadly. "You're like a dog with a bone when you get an idea into your head, Assumpta. There's no reasoning with you."

She stared over at her husband, cut to the core by his suggestion, and slowly began to climb the stairs to their bedroom. She stopped just short of the top step, as soon as the realisation hit her. "I don't think we can get over this. I don't think _I_ can ever get over this."

Leo felt his blood run cold and ascended the steps after her. "Assumpta!" he called, grabbing her wrist as she moved to close the bedroom door behind her.

"Get your hands off me!" she spat, in disgust. "You may have squandered the last child-bearing years of my life. You've robbed me of my children! You never get to touch me again."

She slammed the door shut and sat, shaking uncontrollably on the bed. How could he do this to her? The man she supposedly loved.

In a matter of minutes, everything had irrevocably changed around her. Assumpta considered her next move but her mind raced indiscriminately. As fresh tears bubbled to the surface, she quickly realised that she had no idea what to do next. She didn't know anything anymore.

* * *

_Dun...dun...dun! _

_Now who saw that one coming? Just all of you i'm sure... _

_I've actually had an industrious two days and I'm now already several chapters into the story. I'm going to shoot my load at some point and post them all - I just wanted to check that I still had an audience out there?! Is this AU staying honest to the original characters do you think?_


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning descended like a fog. Leo had packed a bag at the behest of his wife and was now probably half way to his flat in London, if he had stayed true to his promise.

It was afternoon before Assumpta even bothered to get up. She telephoned Niamh and tasked her with finding cover for the pub for the next few days. She couldn't face anyone at the moment.

She showered quickly and without bothering with her usual getting ready routines, scrunched her hair up in a loose bun and slipped into her gym clothes.

Not that she'd any intention on exercising today.

She didn't feel like doing anything today.

Casting a cursory eye on her phone, Assumpta saw that she'd a whole array of text messages to sift through.

The first three were from Leo. One to say he had arrived safe. Another to say he was at his flat, if she needed him. The third to say how much he loved her.

Deleting each one, systematically but at speed, Assumpta almost missed the two from Peter:

_Hey, just wondered if you wanted to drive to the clinic together tomorrow? Or would that be weird? That'd be weird, right? _

The next message followed shortly after:

_Btw, what's the name of the clinic – just looking for directions. PS – did you know that asparagus boosted male fertility? And I just thought it made your wee smell. _

The Irishwoman felt her stomach twist into knots. She had to tell him. She composed a new message, telling him not to worry; that it didn't matter anymore. Her phone rang almost as soon as she'd hit send.

"Assumpta, what's wrong?" Peter sounded nervous. "Have you changed your mind?" he asked, warily.

Upon hearing his voice, full of concern and empathy, Assumpta couldn't hold back her tears any longer.

"I'm coming over."

* * *

Despite it being the height of Summer, Ballykissangel had refused to get any lighter than it had at first light. The grey skies had cast a gloomy glow over the entire village – the cheery yellow of Fitzgerald's outer walls, notwithstanding.

When Assumpta answered the door to Peter, her eyes were swollen from crying.

"What happened?" the Priest asked gently.

Assumpta sighed, and poured them both a large measure from Leo's expensive bottle of Malt Whisky.

Peter looked at the clock – just shy of 4pm. Ordinarily he wouldn't partake in such a generous glass of the strong stuff so early, but from the look on his friend's face, he knew that she wasn't to be argued with.

"Where's Leo?" he tried, but judging by her crestfallen response to his question, he had a feeling that he already knew.

"London," she volunteered, following a large gulp of her drink.

Peter took a seat beside her. "I take it he didn't take the news of our arrangement too well."

She shook her head.

"What did he say?"

"Oh, just the usual." Assumpta took another drag from her glass, "How it didn't matter anyway as he never wanted children."

The Priest sat back in surprise. "Then, why…"

"Exactly. Why pretend you do? Only he can answer that one." Finishing the remnants in the glass, she got up to fix herself another. "But that's not the worse of it."

"Oh?"

"The kicker is that he made certain that he wasn't able to anyway – produce children, I mean."

Peter felt his mouth open in surprise. "He had a vasectomy"

She nodded, downing another slug of whisky and pouring yet another. "Three years ago, apparently."

He was speechless. How could someone do that? To someone they loved, no less? It beggared belief.

"So it looks like I backed the wrong horse." She smirked, the effects from the alcohol finally taking hold. "Bet my last good chance of having a family with the one person who couldn't." Assumpta studied Peter and clarified, quietly "Well, second to last chance."

The pair locked eyes past the point of acceptability. Peter wanted to go to her – he felt compelled to touch her skin, kiss shut her eyes and run his fingers through her hair, whispering that everything will be okay.

Before he even managed to muster up enough confidence to leave his chair, Assumpta had retrieved the rest of the bottle of scotch and was slowly ascending the stairwell.

Peter followed. It was all he could think to do.

She entered her bedroom, leaving the door open in her wake. _Breathe_, Peter reminded himself as he trailed in behind her.

Assumpta was curled up in the foetal position, cradling the bottle of whisky. The sight would have been almost amusing had she not looked so tragic.

Gingerly, the Priest sat at the foot of the bed beside her, hovering his palm over her leg, before settling on her bare ankle.

"It's going to be okay."

Assumpta begrudgingly sat up, covering her eyes with her fingertips. Peter held his free hand to her head, stroking her as she rested against his shoulder.

_This was getting dangerous._ Peter's mind raced. _He needed to leave. Now._

As if on cue, his friend dissolved into a fresh flood of tears. "Shhh" he whispered into her hair, trying his best to ignore the overwhelming urge to take in her scent.

Assumpta pulled her head away, gripped Peter by the collar of his chequered shirt and whispered his name.

_Oh, god._ Feeling his mouth unwilling to cooperate with his rapidly clouding judgement, the Priest brushed his lips against hers.

_This was happening. This was actually happening. _

"I don't want to go to the clinic tomorrow." Assumpta announced, suddenly against his mouth.

Peter pulled away. What?

"The fertility clinic, I don't want to go. I don't want to conceive a child that way."

His faculties still lost on him, Peter relinquished his hold and walked over to the window. "I didn't think we would."

Neither said anything right away, each lost to their own thoughts. Peter made a promise to keep his distance from now on. They'd had more physical contact in the past five days than they'd had in fifteen years and judging by what had just happened – what was about to happen – there was a good reason for that.

The publican was thinking something altogether different. As she hugged a pillow against her stomach, berating the loss of the child she'd yet to have, an idea began to formulate. _Damn him_, she thought. _Damn Leo if he was going to take this from her. _

"I don't want to conceive a child _that_ way." She repeated to Peter, looking into his eyes in earnest.

"I know," he snapped, trying hard to hide his disappointment.

"You're not hearing me…"

Peter studied her, trying to decipher her meaning.

_Oh…_

"Will you, still?" she asked, already anticipating his answer.

Peter searched his conscience for a reason not to immediately agree. _You'll be breaking your vow of celibacy. She's a married woman. It's a sin. _

However, his desire drowned out any argument to the contrary. He knew what he would reply even before she asked it.

"Yes" he whispered.

Things were about to get _very_ complicated.


	7. Chapter 7

When Assumpta awoke the next day, it was with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Like she'd done something wrong. Like she was about to do something very wrong.

She quickly checked the other side of the bed and the en-suite for any trace of the man, a certain curate, who she'd vaguely recalled almost kissing last night.

Clear. _Phew. _

And then she remembered.

As if on cue, she discovered that Peter had left a note after she'd passed out last night.

_Assumpta, _

_I write this, as you lie, comatose, after drinking in quick succession four measures of Cask Strength Whisky. It's strong, sure, but I'd expected more from a woman who runs a pub. _

_I've put you in the recovery position and will turn off all of the lights as I leave. I'll phone to check on you in the morning. _

_You might not remember a conversation we've just had regarding the fertility clinic… and if you don't – or if you'd rather you didn't – I won't bring it up again. We'll just put it down to the drink. _

_If you do, however, and you still want to go ahead, my schedule has been cleared for today. Just let me know if you'd still like my help when I call…_

_Peter_

The phone rang immediately. _Oh, god. It was him._

Assumpta picked up the receiver, "Peter?"

"No, but no prizes for guessing who you're expecting." Leo tried to sound jovial but the hurt in his voice was only too evident.

"What do you want Leo?"

"To talk. Like grown-ups now you've calmed down, hopefully."

"Are you seriously doing this? Really, now?"

"We need to get through this, Assumpta. You need to let me come back."

Assumpta held Peter's note between her fingertips, testing the terseness of the sheet. "I don't have to do anything."

"This is our marriage. Fifteen years. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It didn't to you when you took it upon yourself to make the most important decision of our lives off of your own back…"

"Get a grip, Assumpta. What's done is done. We need to move forward – "

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was Leo even sorry, in the slightest?

"Goodbye, Leo."

"Well that's grand, isn't it? We don't need child in our relationship Assumpta – one's enough already."

She hung up.

Crouching slowly on the foot of the bed, it occurred to the publican that this would be the final conversation she'd have with her husband. Her marriage was over.

She expected to feel sick, for the tears to begin to fall yet again, but the truth was, she felt nothing.

She looked at the calendar on the wall. Today was Wednesday, signified by a large red cross in the box. Today was the day that she could finally change her life. With the phone still in her hand, she dialed the number she'd learned by heart and waited for him to answer.

"Hello, Peter Clifford"

She closed her eyes. "I'm still game if you are."

* * *

_Right guys, as of the next chapter, we're going M! _

_Be sure to Follow this story or adjust the default filters if you want to keep reading this, or the rather excellent M-rated epic by Bridget Weinstock._


	8. Chapter 8

_Happy weekend people... ;-)_

* * *

Peter paced nervously around the hotel room, waiting for an inevitable knock on the door. They'd set a time and place. 3pm. In a Premier Inn off the main motorway into Dublin.

_The height of romance. _

It was with good reason. This particular hotel had individual rooms with their own front door facing the car park. _Less chance of bumping into anyone._ Designed as layovers for sleep-deprived drivers, the rooms even charged by the hour.

Peter, feeling nauseous at the prospect of allocating a time frame for what they were about to do, booked them in for an entire night. He'd paid extra for a separate lounge area and mini bar too. He needed to make this less sordid than it already was.

He glanced at his watch again. 3.15pm. _Had she changed her mind?_ Just as he was about to leave, about to call off the entire arrangement, he heard a gentle tap on the door.

_Breathe, Peter. Remember to breathe. _

Opening the door, he remembered suddenly why he had driven the 45 minutes out of Ballyk and why he'd handed over the Animal Service, secretly his favourite of all the blessings, to another Priest.

He was about to make love to Assumpta Fitzgerald.

"Hi," she shuddered, shaking off the last remnants of rain from a plain, beige trench coat. "Couldn't have picked a better day, could I?" she joked at the expense of the weather.

She turned around to take off her coat and Peter was both relieved and disappointed to see that she did indeed have clothes on underneath it. _There goes Assumpta Fantasy Number #4. _

"Can I get you a drink?" he croaked, in his best Sean Connery voice.

The impression was lost on Assumpta. "After last night? You're kidding me, right?"

In the absence of drink preparation, he didn't know what to do with his hands. For want of a better solution, he sat on them.

"Look, I know this is weird – " she began, taking a seat beside him. "Maybe it's too weird and we should call the whole thing off…" she tested, relived to see a panicked expression on Peter's face. "But you're really doing me a _solid _here." She clicked her tongue. Now that was a weird time to trial youth speak. "You know what I mean."

Peter sighed in relief. She was just as nervous as he was. Encouraged, he took her hand in his hand and held it for a moment. "How do we do this?" he asked, honestly.

Assumpta's words hitched in her throat. She was temporarily hypnotised by the concentric circles he was tracing on her wrist; the way he looked at her as if she were the only person in the world for him.

"I have no idea…"

Peter leaned in for a kiss, planting a soft, barely-there brush of her lips before moving in closer, surer of his actions. _Oh, god. Was this real?_

She held a hand up to his lips to prevent him from closing the gap. "Look, I think it'd be better… do you mind if we don't kiss? I just think it might blur the lines too much."

Something inside of Peter screamed. _Blur the lines? How much blurrier can you go from this?! _But he said nothing. Instead, he pulled away and murmured a noncommittal "kay".

"Look, give me a moment to freshen up – get the car journey off me," she begged. "Don't run away?"

Peter smiled. _As if he even could._

In the bathroom, Assumpta worked quickly to transform herself into a wanton goddess. Peeking beneath her dress at her lacy underwear, bought especially for the occasion, she deliberated over whether she should dispose of them. Was this too much pressure for Peter?

He'd hinted once that he was no virgin. He had made vague references to a long-term girlfriend at school. Sally-somebody, who he'd broken the heart of when he went to the seminary.

Assumpta did the sums in her head. That was over 25 years ago! With this in mind, she decided that it'd be easier for everyone involved if she just took charge. _Wanton goddess… wanton goddess…_ she chanted, as a mantra.

When she left the bathroom, Peter was no longer in the sitting room. Panicked, she checked the adjoining bedroom and was relieved to discover him standing, wistfully beside the window.

They looked down at the bed together and all of a sudden, locked eyes from their respective corners of the room.

Assumpta began to unbutton her red cardigan from the bottom up, keeping her focus firmly on the Priest. Once removed, she made light work of her knee-highs, unzipping them as smoothly and seductively as possible. She felt her skin flush as Peter watched her, boring holes into her fabric; his heart rate peaking at any sign of flesh.

He undressed her with his eyes, just as she undressed. Peeling down the spaghetti strap of her cotton dress, she revealed a black, strapless Basque.

"What's that?" he murmured, nervously, following the hint of lacy material peeking from her chest.

"What, this?" she gestured, coquettishly. By way of an explanation she slipped down the other spaghetti strap, allowing the dress to fall to her feet. "I just thought it'd help"

Peter's eyes widened. The Basque finished below her stomach, stopping just short of her sheer, lacy underwear – black, of course – which skimmed the tops of her thighs.

He drank her in – patches of milky white skin and sheer, black lace, and hair, mermaiding past her shoulders. He felt his trousers tighten and soon it became too uncomfortable to stand, so he sat, awkwardly on the foot of the bed.

Casting his eyes away from her reluctantly, he muttered under his breath, "All you had to do was show up."

He didn't hear her walk over to him and take his hand into hers. "Put your hands on me, Peter".

He closed his eyes and felt her run his fingertips along the lace of her knicker elastic. She puppeted his hand to release her from it – pull down her underwear to just above her kneecaps, to run his hands across the line of her sex.

The feeling of her soft and sparse pubic hair was almost too much for the curate. He volunteered his other hand and ran it along the small of her back and across her stomach. Eyes still closed, he held his forehead against her pelvis, smelling her, tasting her, whetting his appetite.

Assumpta let out a throaty cry, goading the Priest further as he opened his eyes and saw her biting her lower lip suggestively. _If he were a speck on that lip…_

Within moments he had thrown her, down on the bed and covered by the entire length of his body. He couldn't kiss her – _god, he wanted to kiss her_ – but she'd said nothing about exploring her with his mouth.

He kissed her neck first, envisioning a time he was last here – against the kitchen cabinets, unsure of anything – a time he knew could have never occurred. His mouth of its own accord, moved southwards to her breasts, now free from that ridiculous underwear. He kneaded the soft flesh roughly, kissing so deeply he was afraid he'd leave a mark.

Suddenly the fondling became too much for Assumpta – "I want you inside of me" and he complied, allowing her to unbuckle his jeans, tensing at the sensation of her hand around his cock. She guided him in, all the time staring into his eyes, waiting for his reaction. He shut them tight upon their initial contact – "Stay with me," she begged, but he could not. The sensations were too new, too powerful. Once inside, he felt his orgasm threaten to bubble to the surface.

_Not yet…_ he begged, as he buried his head into her shoulder, without moving. Without thinking.

A moment later, he hastened a move. Slowly and minutely, he gradually grew accustomed to the irrepressible pleasure that came from being encased by her tightening flesh. Peter tried to stay focussed; he tried to remain alert. The fear of coming too quickly gradually began to fade as he felt Assumpta build to her own climax.

Forcing him in deeper and grinding against him harder, the publican couldn't believe sex could be this satisfying. As ashamed as she was to admit it, she'd never managed an orgasm through this alone. _Some people just aren't built that way,_ the magazines assured her.

But this time it was different. The feeling of Peter's incredible girth moving rhythmically inside of her was almost too much to bear. He filled her completely. Peter barely needed to move an inch for every nerve in her erogenous zone to stand on end. But move he did. Goaded by her pleasurable sighs, Peter increased the speed and motions of his thrusts accordingly until it became all too much for his partner to bear. Repressing her cries with his shoulder, Assumpta achieved something she hadn't managed in over twenty years of sexual activity: she had an orgasm.

Full aware of the torment her lover was under, she wanted to make things easier for him, give him his release. Feeling the reverberations of her orgasm resonating on the Priest, she panted in whispered sighs to his ear, "Come," she begged him, "Come".

Unbeknownst to Assumpta, that was exactly what Peter was trying to do but his previous repression, his fear of letting go, had denied him it. Gone were his loving movements as he began to fuck her, hard, all the time listening to her sweet entreaties, begging him to fill her up, imploring him for his seed.

His frustration levels were sky-high, as if someone was playing a cruel joke on the Priest. Sure, he could have one night with Assumpta but he wouldn't be allowed his own release. He'd have to remain here, in this blissful purgatory, growing increasingly exhausted as he entered and re-entered her, again and again.

He felt Assumpta begin to come again beneath him, which in itself had almost tipped him over the edge. Peter had begun to give up hope when, through the midst of her orgasm, she found his mouth and kissed him with all of her years of longing, all of her desire.

He returned the kiss just as ardently, surprised by the sweet taste of her tongue against his own. Just as the kiss deepened, he felt his defenses' slip away and his body empty, completely, inside of her. _"Oh… oh… oohh!"_

Neither stirred for a moment afterwards. He kissed her again, quickly and defiantly, before moving away, more tired and more fulfilled than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

Assumpta panted beside him, her mind drawing a momentary blank on anything she'd ever known. "Peter?" she mumbled toward the other side of the bed. Was he feeling the after-quakes just as much as she? She turned to face him but saw that he'd already fallen fast asleep. The publican repressed an incredulous laugh. _Men!_


	9. Chapter 9

When Peter awoke, Assumpta had already left. Returning from the bathroom, he looked at his phone for the time – 9pm. _Crikey, he'd slept._

He noticed four messages on his phone – all from Father Matthew, all labelled _Help!_

Even before he opened the first one, his phone rang. "Matt? Yeah, sorry. I'm on my way back now."

Reluctantly, Peter threw on his clothes whilst scanning the room for his car keys. As he looked under the bed, the curate found not only his keys but also Assumpta's black lacy knickers. Had she left them on purpose? Delighted by his discovery, Peter folded the tribute and placed it in his trouser pocket, feeling a swell again as he thumbed the fabric. He smiled – _who'd have pitched him as an underwear enthusiast? _

* * *

Assumpta sank lower into her rolled top bathtub, allowing the scorching water to work its magic on her aching limbs. Glass of white wine in hand, she'd felt better than she had done in days – in months, if she were perfectly honest.

She stroked her inner thighs – still sore from the exertion they'd had today. Stroking higher, she cupped her sex and thought of him. _Peter_. Moving rhythmically and urgently inside of her. His face as he came – contorted and relaxed, in equal measure, speaking – nay, shouting – her name again, and again.

She rolled over in the bath and hugged the edge of the white enamel. _Oh, boy – was she in trouble._

They hadn't spoken about a repeat performance. In all honesty, Assumpta hadn't imagined she'd want one. Now it was all she could think of. His first time in more than a quarter of a century – _her first time with him_. It wasn't meant to go this well; it was supposed to be a means to an end, a way to get her pregnant.

Assumpta remembered she had a voicemail from the fertility clinic and reached for her iPhone to retrieve it.

_Hello, Mrs MacGarvey it's Doctor Kirwan here. You missed your scheduled appointment for insemination today. Your donor didn't come by either. Is everything alright? Did you want to reschedule? I want to see you anyway – this week if possible. I'd like to redo some of your earlier tests to find out how everything is ticking along. Anyway, call me as soon as you can so we can arrange something. _

In all of the madness, Assumpta had forgotten to cancel her appointment today. She'd probably still be charged for it. _Great_. Their consultation fees alone cost the same as a pair of designer shoes.

Looking over her messages, she saw that Leo had tried to ring. Once at 3.30pm and then again at 4.15pm. It cut her to imagine how he'd feel if she'd answered those calls when her phone rang; if he'd heard what his wife was doing on the other end of the line – and with whom.

There was no denying it: she was an adulteress. She'd succumbed to temptation and had an affair – with a Priest, no less – and no amount of bath water would rid her of that sin. Assumpta groaned and sunk her head beneath the tepid water.

_It was time to climb out of the bath. It was time to get out. _

* * *

When the last of the manure from the Animal Service had been cleared from the altar, Peter allowed himself a moment's respite. It seemed fitting somehow. Just yesterday he'd been in the midst of unfathomable pleasure. Today he was clearing up shit.

He looked at his watch – just after 3am. His sleep pattern was certainly taking a bashing from this break in routine.

Pulling his wearing limbs from the pew, the Priest walked solemnly over to the door and bolted it behind him. On the walk home, he felt his legs deviate a spell and found himself walking beside Fitzgerald's. He gazed up at the window and upon seeing the light still on, fought the urge to knock on the door.

Tightening his fist, Peter continued to walk past and, once he was a safe enough distance away from the very real temptation of going inside, allowed himself to bask in the luxury of hindsight.

There were no words for how it felt to be inside her. Like taking a breath after years of suffocation. He felt whole again. He felt alive. Looking up at the window, Peter wondered for a moment if they had managed to create a child. It had certainly felt as if they'd done something special, performed a miracle of sorts. The Priest scolded himself for hoping momentarily that they had not, that there would be occasion still for a repeat performance.

Realising fully that his fate, his all, was now in Assumpta's hands, Peter walked begrudgingly by with just his memories to call his own.


	10. Chapter 10

Kathleen Hendley sat on her usual stool behind the till while her nephew, David and his wife conducted the stocktake.

"I've 14 cans of beans, Dave. How many are we meant to have?"

"Baked or Kidney?" came the stifled reply.

"Baked."

There was a pause. "14"

"Right you are, love."

And so went the morning. Ever since Kathleen had semi-retired, David and his family had moved back to Ballykissangel to takeover the family business. Her nephew was set on using his years of managerial experience in a leading supermarket to 'revolutionise' the corner shop. Regular stocktakes, were just one of the hare-brained schemes that Kathleen deemed unnecessary.

But she minded her tongue and instead, sat next to the window with her book of crossword puzzles and large cup of Earl Grey tea.

"Twelve across. Seven letter word to describe _Something prohibited; an affair perhaps_?"

Glancing over at the pub, she saw the Macgarvey woman struggling to keep hold of a beer barrel. From nowhere Father Clifford appeared to lend a hand. The old woman sneered and looking down at her paper, scrawled the word 'ILLICIT' in the space provided.

* * *

"Hey, thanks for that." Assumpta remarked at the neatly aligned beer barrels, trying desperately to keep her gaze off her perspiring friend.

"Don't mention it," he gasped, rubbing his sweaty brow with his forearm.

Each held their tongue for a moment. It'd been two days since they'd last seen each other – seen so much of each other – and neither knew what else to say.

In the absence of anything meaningful, Peter asked "Are you still okay to bring over the beer barrels to the Slave Auction tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes," she remembered. "Sorry, with everything, it had slipped my mind."

"And you… still on to work the bar?" Peter tried to keep from emphasising the words 'work' and 'bar' but his mind wandered nonetheless.

"Can't I'm afraid."

Peter tried to hide his disappointment. Was she avoiding him now?

"I have an appointment," she clarified, picking up on his uneasiness.

"Oh?"

Assumpta tempered him "Just a check up. Nothing exciting."

"Oh, okay."

"I'd tell you if there was… anything exciting."

"Fine. Good."

They stood there, uneasy, like shy teenagers until Peter managed to muster up the courage to exit their awkward interview. "Have to be off now, I guess."

Assumpta looked disappointed. "Will you be in later? For your 2pm sandwich, I mean?"

The Priest's eyes narrowed over her meaning. Was she being euphemistic? God, he hoped she was being euphemistic. "Erm… do you want me to?" he asked, cagily.

"Of course! I mean the bread's fresh… and the meat's – " she trailed off, her mind digressing. "I'd like to see you." she added honestly.

Peter smiled and promised, "I'll be there."

* * *

A 2pm sandwich turned out to be exactly that, a 2pm sandwich, but not that Peter was complaining. It was a relief just to see the publican again, to chat easily in spite of the numerous scenarios that kept flying through his head.

_Assumpta on this table… Assumpta against the bar. Assumpta feeding me this sandwich – naked – using her body as a plate. _

Peter held a hand to his mouth. He needed to get over this. He needed to get out of here. As he got up to leave, Brendan bustled in through the door – "Not leaving, are you Father?"

"Yeah, was about t –"

"Nonsense, it's been an age since we've had a beer together. I'll even let you hear my confession."

_Would you say that if you heard mine?_ Peter wondered, feeling himself being led to a seat beside his friend.

"So, how's the teaching game?"

"Tiring. More so now Aisling is taking her Highers. She thinks just because her Da is the Headmaster, she doesn't have to do any work for them!"

And so the evening wore on, with Brendan becoming steadily drunker and more vocal with Peter unable – or unwilling – to leave his side.

When the pub had become livelier, Assumpta had left the bar to change into her evening clothes. When she returned, the curate's eyes were out on stalks at her chosen attire.

She was wearing a thin cotton dress – the thin cotton dress, with the spaghetti straps that she'd chosen to wear to the hotel that day. Was this an oversight? Was she testing him?

Peter was now openly ignoring everything Brendan was saying and followed Assumpta with his eyes, mentally undressing her as he had done at the hotel that day.

She never once looked over toward his direction. Instead she laughed easily with Siobhan and the rest of the locals. It was only when she bent down suggestively, to retrieve a fallen bottle stop in front of him that the Priest crouched down beside her, picking up the stopper before she could.

"Are you trying to drive me mad?" he whispered, heavily.

Assumpta smiled, feeling vindicated. "Excuse me?"

"Your dress – this dress – are you angry at me for something?"

"A dress is just a dress, Peter," she assured him. "And what have I got to be angry with you about?"

Assumpta attempted to take hold of the bottle cap but Peter kept his grip firmly around it. When their fingers touched, he ran an errant thumb along the inside of her hand, watching as her lower lip dropped in expectation.

"Got lost down there?" a booming Irish voice cajoled – probably belonging to Padraig.

Peter relented in surprise and the landlady seized her chance to snatch back the implement.

"Found it!" she announced, triumphantly.

Peter skulked back to his chair, biding his time until last orders. _He'd have it out with her eventually. Oh, yes. He'd have his way with her soon enough._

Little did he know that the publican had other ideas.

Discreetly pushing the lager pump, allowing its contents to spill from the drips tray and onto the floor, Assumpta mulled over this evening's events. Peter had all but ignored her since he'd come to the pub but still he refused to leave.

Despite the special care she'd put into making his 2pm sandwich, he'd eyed it as if it were a consolation prize and had barely finished half.

One thing was certain: sex had irrevocably changed their relationship. She could no longer look at her friend with the same eye again. Once Peter, now he was _Peter_, the man whose touch she craved like no other – the man who rendered her senseless by a single glance.

With a sigh, Assumpta emptied the same drips tray – her fifth visit to the sink in the course of the evening. She'd selected the barrel she'd suspected had the least to go. She needed to go to the outbuilding to change the beer over eventually – why not now? _Why not this evening?_

Replacing the tray beneath the lager pump, Assumpta was delighted to hear that familiar hissing from the tap once the barrel became empty. _Finally_.

Now all she had to do was wait for Niamh to notice…

She moved to the opposite end of the bar and stared soberly at Peter. He returned her gaze, equally seriously. _God, she wanted him._

"Aw, dammit. 'Sumpta the lager's out."

The publican smiled at Peter. Suddenly he understood.

Assessing the tap, the publican declared, "Oh, this is the tough one. It might take some time."

"It doesn't matter, I've got it under control here."

With a pang of guilt, Assumpta left her heavily pregnant friend to mind the bar alone but not before sharing a lingering look with the Priest.

"Well, I'd best be off then I suppose." Peter announced after Assumpta had left.

"Can't tempt you Father?" asked Siobhan, gesturing to a fresh pint of stout. He smiled, widely. _Someone had got there first._

"Nah" he returned "Lots to prepare for the Slave Auction tomorrow"

"Will you be standing in yourself?" Brendan asked, cheekily.

"I think I could be persuaded," he laughed with his foot already out of the door.

* * *

_So, any guesses what's going to go down at the Slave Auction? Or the Beer Cellar, for that matter..._

_A little concerned people might not be digging the M-rated content from a few chapters ago... a __lot__ of views but very few comments (apart from my lovely cheerleaders!). Should I continue with the abject filth? Is it too gratuitous, do you think? _

_Feedback really, really helps the writing process. Tell me what you want, people!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Aw, thanks Reviewers. Special thanks to Mcbenzy who always says just the sweetest things. You should definitely get your M on at some point. I'm convinced it'd be great!_

_And on that note, here's another one for you cheerleaders out there..._

* * *

As Peter walked the short distance to the beer cellar, he felt his heart in his throat. Were they really going to do this? Here, of all places? Right under the noses of his friends and parishioners.

_In the home she shared with her husband. _

When he saw her, standing coquettishly by the shed door, all of his reservations diminished.

He had to have her. Now.

Without thinking, Peter pressed his mouth hard onto hers, pushing her against the wall of the cellar. She kicked shut the door, ineffectively and wrestled with the buckle of his belt.

The Priest tugged impatiently at his neckline – the wretched, white plastic refusing to budge. With a tear of the fabric however, he was successful. Free from his dog collar. Free from his vows.

Assumpta's cool grip on his manhood was as intoxicating as it had been the first time. Tight and perfectly measured, tugging with just the right terseness, her touch threatened to bring him to the edge here and now. But within moments, he was inside of her – at her sweet spot – kissing her constantly as he pushed into her, over and over, against the wall.

The publican steadied herself in his arms, shifting half of her weight on an overturned stout barrel. It was an awkward position – half standing, half sitting – but there was no time to adjust. She wanted to enjoy the feeling of him moving inside her for as long as possible.

"You're so bad," Peter whispered, but he wasn't complaining. They'd led exemplary lives up until this point. Now was their chance to take a little back. Rebel, for once.

She was on the cusp of coming when she felt a shift in his movements, in the sounds he was making. _He was close too_. Pulling him in deeper, she brought her release forward so they could come together – something she'd only ever heard about, never actually done.

The feeling of his release inside of her intensified her climax tenfold. "Oh, Peter!" she shouted, forgetting their proximity to the bar.

He hushed her mouth with his hand, running his thumb along the inside of her lip, watching as she sucked it, roughly and urgently, stifling her cries.

Eventually, she released it but still his hand lingered, brushing a smear of brick dust from her cheek.

"Okay?" he whispered, his voice thick with concern.

"Okay." Assumpta found her feet, albeit shakily. "It's just… it's never been like that before. I've never – like that, before."

Peter stood back and looked at her sceptically.

Picking up on his cynicism, the publican flashed him a wry smile. "No, seriously. You have a gift."

Mentally patting himself on the back, Peter couldn't help but grin widely.

"Don't let it go to your head, Clifford. Everyone has to be good at something."

"Just glad I could be of some use."

They held each others gaze for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say. Something that had started as a favour to a friend was now something altogether different.

"I'd better get back," Assumpta moved to the door.

"No, I'll go. You still need to change your barrel."

"Right, yes. Of course. Well remembered."

"Glad I could be of some use," he repeated again into her hair and left.

Assumpta watched him leave and sunk down onto a barrel. _She hadn't expected it to feel this way. She hadn't expected it to be like this. _

She ran a hand through her disheveled hair and attempted to straighten her dress.

_Oh, boy. Was she in trouble._


	12. Chapter 12

Sunlight streamed into the main bedroom of the Rectory. Peter languished slovenly in bed, casting his mind over the events of the past few days.

In his wildest dreams, the curate could never have imagined he'd currently be in the midst of an affair with Assumpta Fitzgerald.

He balked at his choice of words but didn't correct himself. It may have started as one friend helping another, but following last night's escapade in the beer cellar, he was certain there was something else behind their arrangement than just trying to become pregnant.

He just wished he knew what it was.

Peter wondered how long they could continue doing whatever it was they were doing. Would they desist as soon as she fell pregnant? Would the guilt soon finally set in?

_Would Leo return? _

He buried his head in his pillowcase, wishing it smelt like her. Maybe he could ask her to come over later this evening? Make love to her in his bed, on his mattress… perhaps she would wear one of his shirts?

He bit his thumb to try and get a better hold of his desire but then, pulling it from his mouth, remembered vividly how she had taken a hold of it last night to silence her orgasm – quieten the sweet sounds emanating from her body.

The way she had sucked it, licked around the fingertip – examined its length all the way down to her throat.

_Oh…_

Peter wondered if she'd ever do that to any other part of him. Was that strictly out of bounds? The muscles in his stomach tightened in anticipation of their next meeting.

He willed himself to stop thinking about her and to get out of bed. Today was a busy day. Today was the day of the Slave Auction.

* * *

Assumpta couldn't really understand what Doctor Kirwan was telling her. _Ovulation…irregularity… drastic drop in fertility._

All she could do was focus on the white mayonnaise stain besmirching the doctor's blazer. Fancy someone as professional as Angela Kirwan – the leading specialist in her field, informing a client that they were becoming infertile without bothering to check for lunch stains first.

"Assumpta? Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You can keep trying but I strongly advise that we book you in for IVF right away, unless you'd like to speak it over with your husband first?"

At the word 'husband', Assumpta broke out of her trance. "I'm not married," she retorted before correcting herself. "I'm getting a divorce."

It was only after she said the D-word that Assumpta realised it was probably true.

Nonplussed, the doctor corrected her paperwork and without looking up, volunteered, "Your donor then – you mentioned that he was a friend of yours?"

"Yes."

"Well, good. Please, talk it over as soon as possible. Time is against us."

Assumpta shook hands with Kirwan and left the office in a daze. Following the doctor's advice, she climbed into the car and set a course for Ballyk.

_Peter. She needed to see Peter. _

* * *

"5 Euros for this wonderful, hulk of a man? Do I hear 4 Euro? 2 – come on, you can't buy anything for 2 Euros anymore…"

Peter stood nervously with the PA system, desperately looking for any sign of interest in his latest slave, Brendan Kearney. "C'mon parents. Wouldn't be the worse thing, control over your child's examiner."

The adults looked guiltily to one another, while their kids suppressed snickers under their breath.

The Priest sighed and leaned into the Headteacher, "Hate to have to do this to you Brendan but it's for a good cause," and, dismissing his friend's protestations announced, "Right, I'm now opening the bidding to all minors in the audience. Anyone want their teacher to do their homework tonight?"

A sea of hands shot up followed by offers of 10 Euros, 15 Euros – 50 Euros!

Peter smirked, happily. An auctioneer they'd make of him yet.

As the bailiff led Brendan away to his new master – a decidedly delighted Kieran Egan – Peter relieved him of the noose and set about putting it over his own head.

In the crowd he saw Assumpta trying to get his attention. 'I need to speak to you' she mouthed. She looked like she'd been crying. Peter tried to remove his shackles but Padraig had already started the bidding.

"He'll hear your confession, he'll give you communion – do I hear 10 Euros for this fine specimen?"

"10 Euros," Molly O'Shaunessy called out, much to the amusement of her friends.

"20 Euros," called another.

"40" called the next.

Padraig couldn't help but notice who was doing the majority of the bidding for the young curate. "See you're certainly popular with the ladies, Father Clifford." Rolling back Peter's shirt to reveal a perfectly curved bicep, he added, "I can't imagine why!"

The sight of a previously unseen attribute of the Priest's impressive body whipped the women into frenzy.

"60 Euros" called a voice from the crowd. Assumpta shot the bidder a threatening look. _That harlot, Josie Farrell._

"80" cried her friend.

The landlady clicked her tongue in irritation. _Enough was enough._ Just as the bidding climbed to 90, Assumpta held up a wad of notes. "552 Euros."

The crowd went silent. "I don't think even the Pope himself could do better than that – Sold!" yelled Padraig with a slam of his gavel.

Assumpta glided effortlessly through the open-mouthed stares of astonishment to collect her prize, dismissing the fact that she'd just spent all of last night's takings.

Peter hung back in bewilderment as she handed the full amount to Padraig, announcing that she was claiming her slave from this moment so they'd have to do without him for the remainder of the auction.

A chorus of wolf whistles erupted as the two of them left the stage, leaving a flustered Padraig to take over the reigns.

* * *

"What the hell's got into you?" Peter finally managed.

Assumpta had fully intended just to talk, to tell her friend about the news that had just been delivered. She'd imagined that they'd have coffee, speak over the logistics of starting IVF.

But those annoying women, fawning over what was rightfully hers, whipped the Irishwoman into a jealous frenzy.

"I want you – now," she uttered seriously, running her lower lip along his earlobe in the broad light of day.

Peter wanted to argue. He was getting tired of being bossed around by her. _Only when she wanted. Only when she asked_. But the look of hunger in her eyes – the way she kissed just above his collar – all in plain daylight, where anyone could catch them, caused a stirring in the pit of his stomach. He would have to comply.

After a beat, he kissed her urgently against the wall of Hendleys, in view of anyone who dared pass them. But sheer fortune had afforded the pair a clean getaway to one of the vacated Fitzgerald Holiday Apartments, away from prying eyes. Away from anyone but them.

"Assumpta – I" Peter tried to stall, but the publican was already on top of him on the bed, undoing his shirt from the waist up and kissing him, _there_.

_Oh…_

Assumpta tried to free him from his belt, to undo his fly but Peter's constant wriggling – his well-meaning attempts to undress himself faster, only impeded her progress.

"Stay, still" she warned, before hitting upon an idea. Swinging her legs off the bed, she left him momentarily, disappearing like a dust cloud into the bathroom.

Peter in his confusion, followed after her with his eyes, noticing at once just how hard she'd made him.

A moment later, she returned with both cords from the complimentary dressing gowns gathered in her hands. Kneeling on the bed, she took one and checked its terseness between her gripped fists.

Peter gulped. _Surely she wasn't going to…_

But, indeed she was. Straddling her legs on either side of him, she tied a noose in one end, looping it over the bedpost. She did the same to the other end, this time pulling it tight around Peter's hand – too tight, arguably. He flexed his hand in response, feeling the cotton fibres cut into his wrist.

Satisfied that he was securely fastened, she made light work of his other hand. All the time she was doing this, Peter could only stare dumbly – half afraid that this was happening; half afraid it was not.

Assumpta smiled back – wantonly, mischievously – whispering into the curate's ear: "Now I have you exactly where I want you… " She checked herself; something was missing. With a gasp of realisation, she leaned awkwardly towards her bag and pulled out a black, chiffon scarf.

Peter looked at it nervously.

"Trust me?" she asked.

He nodded quickly, shivering in anticipation. He'd once awoken in a cold sweat following a dream depicting this very scenario. Except that dream had resulted in something their agreement did not cover – a decidedly prophylactic method of lovemaking.

Now completely blindfolded, he felt her mouth slowly descend southwards.

_She wouldn't – would she? _

He heard the click of his belt buckle… the zip of his fly. He felt the now familiar sensation of her cool hand releasing him from his boxer-briefs, stroking his length expertly.

For a moment, he didn't feel anything else, as she teased and cajoled him with her fingertips. Her feather-light touch was almost as intoxicating as the warmth of her breath against his hardness – a carnal reminder of the proximity of her mouth.

"Assumpta…" he warned, but he was powerless to do anything. He was completely at her behest, and it was now her behest to plant soft, closed-mouth kisses on the underside of his erection.

Peter's legs twitched involuntarily. "Assumpta – " he pleaded. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

She'd moved her attention towards the head of his penis, hovering her bated breaths excruciatingly over the tip. He tightened his grip around the ties that bound him until he lost all feeling in his hands.

"How much do you want it, Peter?" he heard her whisper.

"So much," he gasped, pleadingly.

She grinned widely. Heady from the power that she yielded over him, she finally relented and kissed the tip of his penis with her open mouth.

The feeling for Peter was indescribable.

Tentatively, she descended, taking more and more of him inside her. When she'd reached half way, Assumpta remained there for a spell, exploring the crevices of his manhood with her tongue.

His considerable length fit in her mouth completely but still, there was room for more. Breathing steadily through her nose, Assumpta brought her lips down further until she felt the tickle of pubic hair against her upper lip.

"Ohhh… God" the curate gasped before he could prevent himself from taking the Lord's name in vain – just one of his many sins. "How are you doing this?"

In the absence of a response, she sucked harder and moved faster, massaging the shaft of his manhood expertly with her hand and her mouth.

Noticing the salty tang of pre-come on her tongue, the publican knew he was close. Shifting it up a gear, she intensified the length and velocity of her strides, all the time moaning wantonly, driving Peter to the brink.

He wished he could see her. _He wanted to see this_. Shaking the blindfold from his head, he gazed down at her, ultimately tipping him over the edge.

"I'm going to – " he panted, as if asking for permission.

By way of consent, Assumpta looked him squarely in the eye. _Do it. Come. Let me taste you. _

And so he did – harder than he ever had before.

* * *

"You are so unbelievably good at that?" he told Assumpta after, her head resting on his chest.

She snorted, "Like you've any point of reference."

"I'm serious!" he maintained, his face widening into a grin, "have you ever thought about specialising?"

Assumpta swatted him with a pillow. "Better watch out or it'll be off the table completely."

Peter wanted to ask why it was even _on_ the table in the first place but thought better of it.

"How are your wrists?" she asked, running a finger along the red mark left by one of the restraints.

"Like you care," he pouted.

"Aw, brave soldier…"

"No. no. I'm bought and paid for now – you can do with me what you want." Peter offered, selflessly. "So… what do you want?" he asked, planting soft kisses along her navel.

Assumpta thought about the day she'd had – the news she'd had. She was going to tell him, really she was, but somehow, right now, it didn't seem appropriate. It would force them to put a label on just what the hell it was they were doing and at this precise moment in time, she just wasn't ready.

"Tell you what I could really do with…" she asked as his mouth moved lower.

Peter's ears pricked. "Anything."

Moments later they were spooning, Assumpta wrapped snugly in the secure embrace of her lover.

"This is just like the glass collecting all over again," he sniffed in mock-indignation, but she was already asleep.

Peter kissed her ear and smiled, happier than he'd honestly ever been.

* * *

_Two naughty chapters within 24 hours... how I spoil thee. _

_It's back to work tomorrow so I fear the updates will be less frequent than they have been. There is one chapter coming up that I am, very modestly, really proud of... and it doesn't even feature any sex! _

_As always, your lovely feedback - good or bad - is totally appreciated._


	13. Chapter 13

At nearly nine months pregnant, Niamh Egan couldn't do much more than watch the world go by. At home, she watched as her husband burnt the dinner and scorched holes in the ironing. In Church, she watched Father Clifford hand out ceremonial crackers to her four young children, a ridiculous smile plastered on his face.

Even at work, she couldn't help but notice subtleties she would miss ordinarily. Subtleties, like Assumpta singing – and she never sang – especially at the end of a long and busy Saturday night.

"Assumpta?" she asked, eyeing her friend suspiciously.

"Uh huh?"

"Where's Leo?"

_Silence_. Assumpta stared dumbly at the patch of mahogany table she'd been buffing. "In London," she answered matter-of-factly.

Niamh pursed her lips. "Uh huh." She paused. "Didn't he just come back?"

"Well, he's not under the floorboards if that's what you're asking?"

"Assumpta?" she clicked her tongue. "What's going on?"

Assumpta looked at her friend. Normally her first port of call when something was bothering her, she'd been decidedly quiet about the events of the past few weeks. As Niamh waited patiently for an answer, Assumpta was at a loss with where to begin.

"He is in London," she began. "But I don't think he's coming back."

Niamh stared wide-eyed at the publican. "What did you do?"

Assumpta's temper flared. "Me? Why do you think I had anything to do with it?"

"You hardly seem like you're grieving."

"I have shed my tears for that man," she shouted, pacing over to the window.

Niamh wanted to go to her, to comfort her oldest friend but she'd need at least a few minutes' notice to build the upward momentum to get up.

Just as she was about to try, Assumpta revealed, "He had a vasectomy, Niamh."

So surprised, Niamh almost fell off her damn stool. "What? When?"

"Does it matter?" she paused. "Three years ago."

"I can't believe he'd do that. Oh, Assumpta."

"Not that it mattered anyway," she grumbled under her breath, remembering the outcome of her test results. She turned to face the window again, hoping that she hadn't been heard.

"Sumpta, what is it?"

Whether it was her friend's concern or the news finally hitting home, Assumpta felt her eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. "The doctor ran some tests last week and found out that I'm not ovulating at the moment."

"Impossible," Niamh dismissed. "You're not yet 40!"

"40 isn't some magic number when your fertility disappears!"

"I wasn't suggesting…"

"Your fertility drops by 90% even before you hit 39." Assumpta felt her blood pressure rising. "It's just in my case… in _my_ case, my fertility has dropped even further."

"How hopeless is it?"

"They say that I can keep trying, but it doesn't look hopeful." She sighed, wistfully. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see if it sticks."

Niamh nodded mournfully. Then, realising Assumpta's words, asked, "Wait and see if what sticks?"

_Oh, bugger. _

"Assumpta, wait and see if what sticks? Leo isn't able – he isn't even here!"

The publican looked at her friend, fearfully. "I sort of have a donor."

"What? Who?"

"Can't a woman keep anything to herself?"

"I know you could never go the anonymous route and last time I checked you were fresh out of candidates."

Fresh guilt befell the face of her colleague and all of a sudden, Niamh knew. "Oh, my it's Peter, isn't it?"

Impressed by her powers of deduction, the publican wondered, "How did you –"

"Oh, Assumpta, it's written all over his face. It's written all over yours!" Niamh wanted to storm out, she wanted to be sick. "Donor? That's a joke."

"He's helping out a friend."

"He's helping himself." Niamh added under her breath, "get on the fast-track to hell."

"Niamh!"

"I'm sorry but I'll never be okay with this."

"It was your idea!"

She snorted. "Hardly." Neither said anything for a while, preferring instead to bore holes in the table in front of them with their acerbic contemplation. "This will only end in tears, Assumpta. You mark my words"

With that she climbed inelegantly off her stool and announced. "I'm starting my Maternity Leave now. You can clean up your own mess."

"Niamh. Niamh!"

But she'd already left.

Assumpta scoffed at the prophecy offered by her friend. _This will only end in tears. _Surely they deserved more credit than that?

Inspecting the very real mess around her – the dozens of empty and half-finished drinks – it was undeniable. She needed help. Photographing the debris with her phone, she attached the image to a text message:

_Interested? x_

Peter replied almost immediately.

_On my way x_


	14. Chapter 14

_Ah, thanks lovely Reviewers and welcome Louise to the M-rated cheerleading squad. Mcbenzy - I would love for you to do my job so I can keep writing! In the absence of that however, i'll just have to use my lunch hours wisely._

_Bridget - this is actually the chapter I was talking about, but now I'm nervous it won't be as well received. Pressure! _

_Anyway, without further ado, here are some of those tears Niamh warned us about._

* * *

In her head, she was already a mother. Twice over, in fact. Each little face, the perfect combination of her and their father's features. Assumpta's dark and unruly hair. His bright, hazel eyes. Their son is patient and kind like his Dad; their daughter, feisty and precocious – exactly how their mother had been as a child.

When Assumpta awoke, she would always feel bereft somehow – like she was missing a part of herself.

Feeling a trail of light, barely there kisses along the top of her back, she knew that this was not one of those days. "Morning,"

She felt him smile into her back. "Is that strictly speaking true?"

Assumpta checked her phone. 12.03pm. "Crikey!"

"Relax, it's Sunday. Your day off."

"Your busiest day!"

"I've already been and come back." Peter announced proudly. "I'm all yours now until evening Mass"

Assumpta turned to face him, "Whatever will I do with you?" she laughed, trying to block her morning breath with a hand.

Peter, unaccustomed to such foibles, gestured at her digits. "What's this? Why can't I see your face?"

"Murning-breff" she muffled.

"Nonsense – can't be that bad." Her bedfellow pushed his mouth onto hers before jokingly, gasping for air.

Assumpta smacked him on the forehead before turning over, nesting her shoulders into the crook of Peter's neck. _This really was nice._

Entwining their fingers, noting with irritation that she'd still neglected to remove her wedding ring, Assumpta felt Peter resume his affectionate, feather-light kisses along her spine.

"You'd better watch out Peter Clifford. Any more of this and you might just fall in love with me."

Peter snorted into her back. "I think we're twenty years too late for that."

He felt every muscle in her body stiffen. "What did you say?"

_Oh no. _

Peter realised that he had a choice; another decision to make. Sidestep what he'd said or be honest.

It was time to bite the bullet.

"I love you…"

Assumpta sat bolt upright and stared at him incredulously.

"I've always loved you," he clarified.

All of a sudden, she felt very naked. Ashamed by her exposed flesh, she pulled the sheet around her tighter, mentally scanning the unfamiliar room of her holiday let for where her clothes might be scattered.

Picking up on her discomfort, Peter felt the panic rise in his throat. "You must've known," he muttered, wounded.

Now Assumpta became angry. Jumping out of bed, nakedness forgotten she shouted, "I had no idea! Do you think I would have asked you to enter into this _arrangement_ if I knew?" She shook her head, disbelievingly. "This changes everything."

Balking at her use of the word 'arrangement', Peter rolled over in bed to face the wall, muttering under his breath.

"I can't hear you." Assumpta called, annoyed.

"I said, maybe you would." His temper rising, Peter turned to face her. "You knew, Assumpta. Don't play dumb with me. After everything that happened – everything we've been through. You knew full well that I had feelings for you – that's exactly why you asked me. _Exactly_ why you knew that I wouldn't – couldn't – say no."

Now dressed, Assumpta moved towards the door. She stopped momentarily and, turning to face him, whispered "All this time?"

Peter looked mournfully into his hands. Feeling the idiot, he replied, "Every day."


	15. Chapter 15

In the weeks that followed, Assumpta didn't speak to Peter again. His departing words reverberated through her consciousness like an intonation, haunting her as she attempted to forget him – to forget their _arrangement_.

She flinched at her choice of words to him.

_Arrangement_.

It was anything but.

Assumpta had naively allowed herself to believe that Peter was getting as much out of their relationship as she. A legitimate excuse to take a break from his years of commitment. A well-deserved respite from his holy vows. But in her heart, she knew. She knew why he kept returning, night after night, at the drop of a hat. She had always known.

Assumpta remembered back to those tentative first years – those dope-eyed looks from across the bar; those revealing sentences, left out to hang in the ether, unfinished… unsaid.

Like that night, all of those years ago, after she'd been accused of always wanting what she couldn't have by Niamh…

_"Ahh, the human condition."  
"Yeah, but you're human…"  
"Ha, I've been promoted!"  
"Do you ever want what you can't have?"_

He'd avoided the question. Of course he had. Assumpta imagined what she'd have done had he instead, uttered those candied words he'd said to her just over a month ago.

_I love you… _

_Every day…_

She felt her stomach twist into knots, realising quickly that back then they would have floored her.

_Who was she kidding? They floored her today. _

But they were all for nought. Gildings on a cask that was otherwise base lead. Nothing could come from this – nothing would come from this, she assured herself.

Realising the time, she gathered her bag and headed to the door. To Niamh's relief – and everyone's around her – the latest Egan had been born slightly ahead of schedule. Today little Colm Anthony Egan was to be christened into the Catholic faith and once again, Assumpta had been called upon to fulfil the role of godmother.

_Always the godmother, never the mum_… she smiled sadly. Remembering her complicated situation with Peter – who she knew she'd have to see today – the publican realised that it was all probably for the best.

* * *

Father Clifford began to layer on the vestments he'd carefully laid out on the bed.

It'd been all too tempting to remain under cover this morning, as it was every morning – shutting the world away, wallowing in his own humiliation.

Peter could have chewed out his tongue for the idiot he'd made of himself. Telling Assumpta that he loved her – a married woman, no less! It wasn't any wonder that she reacted the way she had done; why she had yet to return any of his messages.

It was the sex, he'd told himself. Starved of intimacy for well over two decades, any man would have been rendered half mad at the mere suggestion. It was only a matter of time before certain truths escaped him.

Although juvenile, Peter devoted considerable swathes of time to mentally cataloguing all of the times they'd had sex – the places, the positions. He ran through them chronologically, trying to capture every sound, every detail, and commit them to his memory.

As the weeks wore on however, his recollections were beginning to fade. Frustrated by his inability to visualise everything _exactly_, Peter grappled under his pillow for the one thing that did remain of hers.

_The black, lacy underwear. _

At the mere sight of them, Peter felt his abdominal muscles tighten. Tentatively, he held them up to his nose, feeling immediately perverted as he did so. But he had to recapture her scent; he had to reclaim _that_ moment.

Peter would see her today – of that much he was sure. But could he persuade her for another turn? To roll the dice once more?

Immediately disgusted with himself, the Priest buried the underwear in his pocket and got up to splash cold water in his face and take a long, hard look at himself in the mirror.

_Get a grip, Clifford. _

As he saw the ghostly spectre of a man in the reflection, he knew that this was a long way coming.

* * *

_Peter the pervert - who knew?_

_But in all seriousness, I wanted to convey how being sexually active after all of this time has taken its toll on Peter. I read Louise's comments on the last chapter with interest. It didn't occur to me that Peter would feel guilty at all for breaking his vows. In my mind, after 25 years of celibacy and the sacrifice of giving up the woman he loved, Peter would feel entitled to a momentary lapse (of a couple of months!)_

_Thanks so much to everyone who is persevering with this story. Your comments are, as always, very, very happily received (and may even persuade me to keep up with the daily posts!)_


	16. Chapter 16

_Ah, Mcbenzy. I think as it's your birthday, you deserve a special Bonus, albeit very, very short chapter dedicated to your good self (although I think you'll secretly want the one after this... wink, wink.)_

_Also __interesting you bring up Leo... #justsayin_  


_As for the Chapter i've just posted, so relieved my depiction of Peter is still so well received! As readers of my previous story will know, I love writing angsty Peter. This love-sick version of him is just one of those facets. _

* * *

Niamh Egan appreciated every single one of her children's Christenings. The family would be decked out in their Sunday best – the two eldest, Kieran and David looking like proper young gentlemen in their morning suits. Their younger sisters – Aoife and Clara – given the excuse to wear the merest hint of their mother's blusher on their already rosy cheeks. And Colm – their newest, and hopefully final addition to their happy family – sleeping peacefully in the Christening gown that suited his brothers and sisters so well before him.

The Church was beginning to fill up with the usual suspects: Brendan and Siobhan with that sullen troublemaker Aisling, who was hell-bent on leading her sons astray. Kevin O'Kelley had even travelled back into the country for the occasion, to the delight of his father Padraig who, in his dotage, was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain the family business.

Niamh wondered about the other overseas invite that she'd sent…

It was a dangerous game she was playing, but something had to be done. Her eyes narrowed at the curate and Assumpta as he attempted to show her where she should be standing following the blessing, his hand lingering on the crook of her bare elbow for longer than necessary.

Tsk. Assumpta was already a godmother four times over – she could play the procedure by heart.

_No_, Niamh assured herself. She was quite right to meddle. Now all she had to do was wait and see if it paid off.


	17. Chapter 17

_Wow - I am ridiculously embarrassed by the length of the last chapter. It seemed so long when I wrote it! I posted it by itself as I thought that it interrupted the flow of this one, probably needlessly in hindsight. _

_Too late to rectify the mistake, all I can do is offer you more. So, without further ado, here's the next part..._

* * *

Assumpta could barely remember her lines when Peter handed baby Colm to her and asked:

"Do you promise to help care for the spiritual welfare of the child, for as long as you should live?"

It was just two little words that she had to remember – a nod would have even sufficed. But somehow, as she felt Peter's hazel eyes search hers, she was rendered senseless.

"Assumpta? Will you?" the Priest whispered, his face cracking into a nervous smile.

Niamh coughed, testily.

"I… I do," she told Peter, honestly.

The Priest wiped the back of his hand against his forehead, theatrically – his whispered 'phew' drawing appreciative laughter from the congregation.

"Can I have the baby back now?" he asked her, sarcastically. After a beat the publican complied, cursing herself for her stupidity.

As he retrieved baby Colm from her arms, lingering far too long in Assumpta's forced embrace, Peter realised that he was probably being unnecessarily mean to his former friend – his erstwhile lover.

If Peter just supposed it, Assumpta definitely knew it. Watching him through narrowed eyed, she bided her time through the hymns and baseless ritual. Oh, she'd confront him alright. She'd get him back for his bad behaviour.

* * *

When the last of the parishioners filtered through the Church doors to descend on Fitzgeralds for the Christening reception, the publican seized her chance.

"What the hell was that? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Assumpta, please." Peter implored her to come through to the vestry, away from the prying ears of the remaining congregation.

Upon hearing him close the door behind her, Assumpta felt her breath hitch in her throat.

_They were alone. _

She tried to remember what she'd been so angry about but as Peter resumed his post-service rituals – the removal of the Amice from around his shoulders which he carefully folded in his hands; the white linen vestment, which he lifted over his head, revealing a flash of skin from his torso as he did – Assumpta's mind drew a blank.

Upon seeing the man now dressed in his usual priestly attire, the Irishwoman wondered if he was going to remove anything else. Peter stared directly at her, wondering the same himself.

"What do you want, Assumpta?"

An answer escaping her, Assumpta couldn't help but notice the Priest's white Roman collar, starched within an inch of its life, hanging half out of its snug.

It was like an errant hair waiting to be plucked.

Her palm twitched madly as she reached to rectify the problem. It was supposed to be a tentative gesture, designed to help him out – but the curate saw it as something quite different.

Snatching her wrist as she reached to touch him, his eyes flamed with desire. He ran a thumb along the underside of her wrist – a gesture that, in their brief physical relationship, he'd learned rendered her senseless.

Mouth agape, she could merely stare as he leaned towards the palm of her hand and planted a soft, open-mouthed kiss to it, searching her eyes for the merest flicker of consent. Could he continue? _Please let him to continue._

In lieu of an answer, Assumpta pulled him closer, screwed up her hand and, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, pushed her mouth towards his, kissing and biting him in equal measures of lust and rage.

His arousal heightened, Peter pushed her against the exposed brickwork of the far wall, nearest to the frosted glass window. She felt her weight shift to the window ledge behind her, lifting her feet off the floor.

_Just where he wanted her. _

Their kissing intensified. Peter grappled with the layers of her underskirt, discovering to his frustration that she was wearing tights. Too reluctant to move her, too impatient to wait, he ripped a hole in the undercarriage, snapping the delicate elastic of her underwear along with it.

_Exactly where he wanted her. _

Assumpta unfastened his fly quickly, feeling the part of him she'd yearned for most of all. With a flick of her wrist, she'd unsheathed him, pulling him easily through her torn undergarments.

"I've missed you," Peter uttered in a moment of honesty as he entered her.

"I've missed you," she returned, cracking a smile for the first time.

As he began to move against her, Assumpta realised just how much. It wasn't the sex exactly, as good as it was. It was the closeness she felt – the desire, emanating from him.

Dare she admit it – _the love?_

They had turned a corner from the last time they'd been here. Always tentative and appreciative of her body, this time Peter was positively engrossed. He savoured her touch, her scent, like it was his last day on the planet. Memorising the crevices of her shape, her face – learning her by heart – Peter rocked against Assumpta with painstaking restraint. He wasn't going to rush this – oh no, not at all.

Her pleasure insurmountable, Assumpta felt that now familiar ache in the pit of her stomach. _She was coming – oh god, she was going to come_. Out of habit, she moved to bury her head into the crook of his neck, closing her eyes to protect her modesty.

"No, I want to see you. I want to see your face," he implored, searching her eyes for the moment – _that_ awesome moment; the only truly honest glimpse into the human soul.

Forgetting her reticence, Assumpta held his gaze as it happened – his devotion only heightening the gratification that she felt.

Peter found his own release shortly thereafter – _who wouldn't?_ – kissing Assumpta's eyes, her face, as his body pressed against her, shivering involuntarily in her warm embrace.

"Okay?" she whispered.

"Okay," he confirmed, resolutely, convinced that now everything would be.


	18. Chapter 18

Afterward, Peter remained pressed up against Assumpta, his legs and his arms burning from exertion.

"We should probably get going?" he vaguely heard her say.

"In a minute…" he implored, appreciating the softness of her skin.

Assumpta smiled wickedly, perusing their decidedly pious surroundings. "Well, hey it's your job that's under threat here."

Peter returned her mirth, "I think it was under threat well before this."

His lover tried to hide her stilted breath. _Was he saying what she thought he was saying?_

To disguise her nervousness at his intimation, the publican held a hand to an unlikely bulge in the side pocket of his trouser. "What the hell is this, by the way? It's been digging into my thigh since I got here."

Remembering, with horror, that he still had her stolen underwear stuffed in his pocket, Peter reluctantly moved away, dismissing her inquiry with a guilty smile.

The publican's curiosity was peaked. "Come, on – out with it. Hand over the contraband."

Filling her open hand with a shy kiss from his lips, Peter changed the subject. "We should really head over to the party. Niamh is already upset that we fluffed the service."

She smiled at the memory. First that and now _this_ – Niamh would be pissed for sure.

As Peter moved to the door, his defences down, Assumpta made her move. "Ha!" she exclaimed, reaching into this pocket. "Got it."

The Priest's face fell as she discovered what it was she had. A confused expression lining her face, she asked. "Are these mine?"

"Well, they'd better be, I guess," he offered, with a wary smile.

"Ha!" she laughed, much to the curate's relief. "I was looking for these. You've had them all of this time?"

Before he could stop himself, Peter replied, "Every day."

His response hung in the air like a miasma. Recalling the last time Peter uttered those two innocuous words in response to a question, Assumpta shifted uncomfortably. "Tell you what, eh. Keep them. Something to remember me by."

And there it was. She hadn't meant it to sound as callous as it had but the nerves had pre-empted her. Peter couldn't hide the hurt evident in his face. He realised in that moment that they hadn't achieved anything – they'd resolved nothing – by their union this afternoon. Things were still as messy as ever.

"I'll go on ahead," Assumpta muttered, almost by way of an apology. "See you later?"

Peter didn't acknowledge her departure. As he heard the door close tentatively behind him, he finally allowed his hurt to brim to the surface. Sinking down into his chair he turned to face the wall so that it, in all of its insignificance, was the only thing to witness his stifled tears.

* * *

_Gah - another ridiculously short chapter! Last one, I promise. _

_Belated birthday wishes to Bridget too! Consider the last Chapter dedicated accordingly._


	19. Chapter 19

It was with mixed feelings that Leo hailed his return to Ballykissangel. Yes, he was anxious to see his wife again, after all of this time. But the place itself held no special meaning to the journalist. A hard thing to admit after spending almost 15 years here but his recent convalescence, his six-week respite from the stifling oppression of small town life, went a long way toward helping him realise that he didn't belong here.

"Oh Leo, thank God." Niamh greeted, enveloping him in a bear hug.

"Good to see you too Niamh!"

"When I didn't see you at the Church I thought you'd had second thoughts about coming?"

"Well, you know. Thought if there was going to be a scene, I'd rather it be here so as not to take the shine off the little lad's day."

Niamh smiled gratefully. The truth was that Leo would sooner chew off this left hand than sit through yet another Egan christening but he needed the mother on side – today, most of all.

"So, how do I look?"

Niamh assessed his outward demeanour. Leo wore what looked liked a very expensive suit – designer, for sure, and in a charcoal grey. He looked uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, but who wouldn't after what he'd been through. Nonetheless he was handsome and perfectly groomed, the Irishwoman decided. _Yes, he'd do._

"You look fine, Leo but remember, Assumpta won't take you back on looks alone. You need to speak to her. Tell her what you told me and you'll be fine."

Leo inhaled nervously, hoping that Niamh knew her friend as well as she claimed to.

* * *

On the short walk home, Assumpta tried to rid herself of the memory of Peter's expression following her heartless comment.

_Something to remember me by…_

After all of her cautious footing – her months of avoidance – one flyaway joke now ran the risk of irrevocably destroying what she had with Peter. It wasn't even a good joke.

She had a window – that much was certain. A day, maybe two, in which to tell Peter that she returned his ardour; that she wanted to make a proper go of things.

The difficulty was that she didn't know if any of it was true.

Niamh's former words rang deafeningly in her ear:

_You always want what you can't have. _

As loathe as she was to admit it at the time, 15 years on this appeared painstakingly obvious to the publican. She didn't want a child until the possibility was taken away from her. She wasn't even planning on growing out her hair until Leo told her that she shouldn't. Stubborn and defiant to the end, were her feelings for Peter just another example of that?

Assumpta would be giving up her marriage – Peter, his vocation – for something she had no idea would actually work out.

At the moment the only thing the publican knew for certain was that she wanted to become a mother. Everything else, the betrayal she felt from Leo, the rush of endorphins she felt every time she saw Peter, paled by comparison.

Even if she did legitimatise her relationship with Peter, the publican's failing fertility would force them to bring the added complication of children to their relationship almost immediately.

Was he ready for that? Was she?

That was even if Peter would agree to have children out of wedlock. Divorce in Ireland would take a minimum of four years and by that time that sentence finished, it would already be too late.

No, she decided. There were far too many ifs and buts. As much as a very significant part of her wanted to be with Peter, everything was against them. Some things just aren't meant to be.

It was with that unhappy thought that she found herself through the door of the pub, face-to-face with Leo.

_Oh god…_

Assumpta looked towards Niamh, who was a little too engrossed in re-arranging the cucumber sandwiches and then back at her former husband, the man who broke her heart just a few weeks ago.

"What do you want, Leo?"

Without even flinching, without second-guessing his answer, Leo looked Assumpta straight in the eye and answered, "Your children."

* * *

_He's back... but for how long? _

_So glad the story is keeping you guessing with its twist and turns. I'd wager that we have a few chapters to go yet, but the final few lines are written so fear not, I do have an idea of where this is heading. _

_Again, Reviewers mean more to me than family at the moment! :)_


	20. Chapter 20

If Assumpta were given the opportunity to slap Leo again, she would've – quite happily. But as it happened, her arms were restrained by her so-called friends, Niamh and Padraig.

"You never get to speak to me, do you hear?" she spat, struggling against their grip.

Leo, surprisingly nonplussed by her outburst, held a hand up to his bloodied lip. "Those krav maga lessons are beginning to pay off, I see."

"Get out," she warned him.

"Last time I checked I still owned half of this place," Leo's eyes sparkled mischievously, "Besides, I was invited."

Assumpta shot Niamh an icy stare, forcing the woman to relinquish her hold on her.

Padraig followed suit after Assumpta, considerably calmer now, left the bar for the refuge of the kitchen. Leo followed nervously behind her.

"What do you want, Leo?" The publican sighed, pouring herself a large glass of wine.

Taking a seat beside her, her husband cupped his hands next to hers on the table. "I told you," he whispered gently. "I want to have children."

Assumpta scoffed, "It's a bit late for that now, don't you think?"

Leo's face broke into a grin.

"Oh, so it's funny now then is it?"

"Not at all – and not at all."

Assumpta stared at her former husband, her brow knotted in confusion. "It's not too late," he clarified, proudly. "I've had a reversal."

"You what?" Assumpta asked, cagily.

"A reversal – for my vasectomy. Just a few days ago in fact – "

"Wait – why on earth… do you think that would make everything okay?"

Leo looked into his hands, "No – but it's a step in the right direction."

She scoffed, "A pretty small step."

Leo paused. "It's still a step Assumpta and I'm going to take how ever many are needed to lead me back to you."

Assumpta watched him place a nervous hand on top of her own. As angry as she felt, she surprised herself by allowing it to remain there for a spell. She'd expected to feel outraged at anything Leo said if she saw him but now he was here, the only thing she felt was guilt. And tiredness.

Leaving her wine untouched, the publican rose from her chair and declared, "I'm tired. I'm going to take a bath and go to bed."

Looking at his watch, Leo remarked, "It's 5.30pm, Assumpta?"

"Really? Out of all of the things you could have said right then and you chose that?"

"I was toying with 'can I join you' but I imagined I'd get another fat lip."

She smirked, in spite of herself.

"Can I stay?" he asked, honestly.

The publican pursed her lips. "You said it yourself, it's your home too…"

Vindicated, Leo stood up to plant a soft hand on the small of her back. "I'm sure you'll find everything you need in the spare bedroom," she clarified.

"Not everything…" he responded wistfully as the door closed behind her.

* * *

Peter didn't leave the vestry until early the next day. Resting his head on the old, beaten-up Chesterfield, he ran through the events of the past few months – of the past fifteen years, even.

Assumpta had been such a huge part of his life for close to two decades. The prospect of spending a single day without her seemed inconceivable to the Priest.

He'd always been in love with her, of that much he was certain. But it was only in the past couple of months did he realise how deep those waters ran.

_Her smell. Her touch. The way she lit up a room just by being in it…_

All of these things the Priest recognised before there relationship had changed but now they were heightened somehow. Amplified.

And now he'd seen her naked too! There was no coming back from that.

So what were his options?

He could forget her. Put the past few months down to a summer fling – something he'd cherish for the rest of his life.

Or…

Peter buried his head in his arms. Was he ready to leave the Church for her? He hadn't been ready 15 years ago – what had changed today?

_She might be carrying your child…_

It was almost too much to hope. Peter decided a long time ago that if Assumpta did fall pregnant he would have to give up the Church. He couldn't stand idly by and allow the child – their child – to grow up without a father figure. His Dad left when he was just a boy and although his mother did her best, the experience had irrevocably changed him.

Even if Assumpta didn't want him, he'd see to it that the child knew that they were loved – by both parents.

Peter allowed his mind to wander back to a recurring dream he'd been having since their affair began:

Assumpta, heavily pregnant with her head resting in Peter's lap. Peter would be idly rubbing her stomach, his mind engrossed in a book while his love chatted about baby names – settling on the moniker Ishmael, much to Peter's chagrin. He'd laugh, but he'd agree all the same because he loved her. He loved her.

Suddenly it was all so simple. Peter _loved_ Assumpta. This wasn't some teenage folly – this was serious. This was real. At 45, Peter knew his mind and after nearly 20 years of knowing Assumpta, he didn't want to spend another minute without her. He needed to go to her. He needed to convince her to give him a proper chance.

With a renewed sense of determination Peter left the couch, left the vestry and then left the Church – his new life, just a speck on the horizon.


	21. Chapter 21

It was 5.30am when it happened. Hunger. More acute than Assumpta had ever felt it before.

Creeping down the stairs and into the kitchen, the publican was fantasising about what she'd make. Eggs Florentine, with kale rather than spinach and eggs fried over-easy as opposed to poached.

_Eggs Assumpta_, Leo had named the dish – the same dish she'd have hand delivered to her in bed each year on their anniversary.

Their anniversary! Assumpta looked at the calendar on the wall – it was today.

With mixed feelings, she opened the door and was surprised to find Leo preparing something on the Aga.

"Ah, you're up." Leo placed down a full plate on a beautifully set table. "Eggs Assumpta – happy anniversary."

He bent down to kiss her but then, thinking better of it, reached past to close the door instead.

"Leo," she exclaimed, genuinely excited. "How did you know I was even up?"

"Toilet. You must've flushed it at least 30 times. Have you forgotten that this place had thin walls?"

She smiled as he pulled the chair out for her. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"S'alright. Never did sleep well when not in my own bed."

Assumpta wanted to tell him that he'd better get used to it but her eggs – oh, the eggs, were devilishly good. "Oh, Leo" she exclaimed with a full mouth. "This is amazing. What's this sauce?"

"Well, we were fresh out of béchamel so I sort of ad-libbed. No raw eggs were used in this entire dish! Thought I'd better get used to cooking this way if we were serious about trying for a baby."

She looked at her husband solemnly. "You're going to have to do a lot better than cooked eggs before that happens."

Leo's heart raced. Did this mean? Would this mean? He stowed his sweaty palms, thrilled by the suggestion. "I'm up for the challenge."

* * *

Freshly showered and changed into civvies, Peter began his short passage over to the pub. It was still early – Assumpta probably wouldn't even be up yet. Should he wait? Peter knew first-hand that the publican wasn't a morning person – would the premature hour influence Assumpta's response to his proclamation of love?

He'd have to take that risk. In the words of some terrible character in some terrible film she'd made him watch once – when you realise who you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

Encouraged by the light in the kitchen, Peter knocked tentatively on the back door.

_Breathe_, _Peter._ _Just breathe._

She opened the door, dressed in her sheer blue dressing gown, more beautiful than she'd ever been.

"Peter – what are you…?" she trailed, a flash of panic on her face.

It took a moment for Peter to realise the reason for her alarm. She wasn't just alarmed to see him – she was alarmed at whom he'd find her with.

_Leo_.

"I'm sorry, you're having breakfast – " he began out of habit, remembering his good manners before anything else.

She shot him a pitying look before turning away, wishing the ground would eat her whole.

"Not at all, Father – " Leo began, getting up from his seat. "What can we do for you this fine morning?"

Leo held a measured hand to his wife's lower back – an unconscious gesture developed through years of intimacy. Peter shuddered in response, but not because of the act itself. It was the way Assumpta allowed his hand to remain there, completely comfortable, as if she could barely feel it. As if it being there were the most natural thing in the world.

"Nothing," Peter heard himself stutter. "Absolutely nothing, I'm sorry. I forgot. It doesn't matter. I'll... i'll leave you to your breakfast."

He closed the door behind him before they said another word. In a daze, he walked back to the Rectory, telling himself that he'd had a lucky escape. He was going to give up everything – he was prepared to lose it all and for what? An unrequited declaration to another man's wife.

_No_, he reasoned, _this was better_. He'd become a Priest because he was attracted to the simplicity of life. Peter had wanted an existence free from distractions so he could devote himself fully to his faith. He now needed to recover that – move on from his temporary lapse and reconnect with his vocation.

If only Peter believed any of this, everything would be fine.

* * *

_Thanks again for the lovely feedback you've all been posting. My head has swelled to the size of Leo's audacity in this story!_

_It's early yet in the UK so you might even get another Chapter before the day's out..._


	22. Chapter 22

_Here it is, the prerequisite guilt chapter. Although it was a tough one to write, I'm really happy with the end result. If it weren't for your lovely reviews and the chat about the internal sufferings of Peter and Assumpta, I probably would have omitted it - ultimately to the detriment of the story. So I thank you, again. Your feedback really does encourage and help us all to become better writers. _

_Good film spot, Happy Trotting Elf. One of my favourites too..._

* * *

Peter sat solemnly on the rear pew of the Church, staring at nothing in particular. He would freely admit that it was a shock to see Leo back at her table again, touching her things… touching her.

_Back where he belonged. _

Peter shuddered at the thought but it was true. If anyone were the other man in Assumpta's life here, it was he.

Seeing Leo again just made it all the more apparent.

The Priest in him winced. Staring up at the effigy of the holy saviour, Peter couldn't quite believe he'd allowed himself to drift so far from the Church's teachings.

_Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife. _

But it was all that the Priest coveted. In his head, he knew this was wrong – he'd always known.

But his heart. _His heart._

Peter wondered if God would ever forgive him. Would he ever be able to reclaim the confidence to preach what he almost certainly hadn't practiced?

He needed counsel. He needed to confess – but more than anything, Peter needed absolution.

As he got up to leave, to visit Bishop Linehan and lay bare his sins, he saw her. Standing in the doorway of his Church, Assumpta appeared like an apparition, her face staring directly at him and then at the crucifixion, as if she too were feeling the weight of their sin.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Peter smiled, sadly. "I don't think God wants to hear anything I have to say."

Rather than refute his assumption, Assumpta kept quiet and took a seat next to him.

For a while they just sat like that, side-by-side, sinners without forgiveness.

"I'm sorry about before," Assumpta broke the silence. "I would have come sooner, it's just – "

"It's fine," Peter's voice strained. "Better that I find out about him than he finds out about me" he added, bitterly.

"It wasn't what it looked like… I mean, we didn't – " Assumpta let her sentence trail. She thought she saw a flicker relief in her companion's face but this was short-lived.

"It looked like you'd taken him back. Had you?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "But I think I might."

Bobbing his head once in comprehension, Peter stood up to leave.

"If you knew what goes into a fifteen-year marriage…" she intercepted, reaching for the Priest's arm. "You can't just end it without knowing that you gave it all you had."

"Oh, but adultery is fine."

"It's not!" she erupted, immersed in her anger. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I was so fixated… I was so hurt by Leo's betrayal, I wasn't thinking straight. I made a mistake."

Reclaiming his seat, wounded by her revelation, Peter willed his emotions to stay under control.

"I mean, this morning – he was really trying, like he was the one who had something to make up for."

"He does." Peter whispered under his breath.

The publican shook her head, "Not like me, not on the scale that I do. Besides…" She paused, unsure of whether she should continue, "He's making amends. He had his procedure reversed."

Peter smirked. "How lovely for you both."

His words stung but the landlady guessed that he'd earned the right.

After a beat, Peter slid past her and walked towards the door, a trembling hand through his hair the only indicator of his lack of resolve. "I'm going to lock up now, so if you could leave…"

"Peter, we need to talk. I need to say my piece – "

"Fine, then I'll leave."

Assumpta stepped in front of the door to prevent him, colliding with the Priest as she did so. Close enough to feel his breath on her breath, his heat intermingling with her heat, something inside Assumpta ignited. Of its own accord, her hand reached behind her to lock shut the large oak door.

"Assumpta…" Peter warned, but he was utterly helpless. He couldn't refuse her, even if he wanted to.

Knowing that she yielded so much power over the Priest – the pillar of the community – was intoxicating. If she allowed it, they'd be minutes away from making love on the cold stone floor, in God's own house – somehow the ultimate betrayal.

She was going to, _oh_ _she_ _wanted_ _to_, but something in the way Peter said, "Assumpta, please…" stopped her dead in her tracks.

His eyes closed, he could have been begging her to do any number of things, but in her heart she knew. _She knew_. He was asking to be released.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, taking a hold of herself as she stepped away. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Neither moved again for a moment. Peter breathed steadily through his nostrils, willing himself to pull it together.

Then, with equal weights of relief and frustration, he unlocked and opened the door. He needed to get out of here, the Priest decided. He needed to move on with his life.

"What did you want to say?" he asked unexpectedly, with one foot on the gravel outside.

Assumpta considered her words carefully. "Just thank you, I guess."

If this was any comfort to the curate, he certainly didn't show it.

"Not many Priests would have done what you did – put a friend's need ahead of what they believed – "

"Don't. Don't do that." Peter begged. "Don't say that."

"What?"

"You want thank me? For what – holding up my end of the bargain? Fulfilling my part in our _agreement_…."

He watched Assumpta flinch at his choice of word.

"Except I didn't, did I?" Peter realised sadly. "Fulfil my role."

Assumpta considered what the fertility specialist had told her, what she'd neglected to tell Peter, and shook her head sadly.

Although he was fully expecting her response, Peter still managed to sound disappointed when he replied, "Well, for that I'm truly sorry."

Assumpta studied the curate's face – his genuine contrition – and felt her heart ache. "I'm sorry I called what we had an _agreement_." After a moment, she snickered, "I can't imagine you and I seeing eye-to-eye on anything for long enough to _ever_ have an agreement."

Peter sighed, studying the indentations of his open palm. "I don't know about that," he said, eventually. "We both agree that this is over."

The inflection in his voice told Assumpta that Peter didn't quite believe this. "I'm sorry," she mouthed again, her voice threatening to break as she turned to face the altar.

"Yeah."

She heard the door creak heavily behind her.

"You know, I did love you," she admitted quietly, staring into her own hands. "I'll love you for as long as I live."

But Peter had already left, the door closed firmly behind him.


	23. Chapter 23

Bishop Ted Linehan wasn't what Peter would call an orthodox Catholic. Although the Priest had known him nigh on eighteen years, he always managed to surprise him with his forward-thinking approach to the Catholic faith.

"Married, schmarried – worse things happen at sea, Father."

Peter's clapped out chair – all scuff marks and worn leather – squeaked in protest as the young Priest shifted uncomfortably where he sat.

"I don't think you heard me correctly. Assumpta Fitzgerald is still married – actually married. In writ of law –"

"But not God…" the Bishop interjected. "She didn't marry in a Church, am I correct?"

_Trust Ted Linehan to find a loop-hole_, Peter thought. "No, but that's not the point. I broke my holy vow."

"So, what are you going to do about it? Say twelve Hail Mary's and hope you get into heaven?" the Bishop laughed at his own joke. "Peter, our kind have done a lot worse than fallen in love with a beautiful woman."

"That doesn't excuse this."

"Perhaps," he reasoned. "But I'm not here to scold you. You shouldn't be afraid of experiencing your feelings – wanting what the heart wants. You're still young…"

"Pfft."

"_Relatively_ young," he corrected himself. "This will make you a better Priest, you'll see."

Peter wanted to feel comforted by Ted's counsel, really he did, but a part of him missed the scolding he got from Frank MacAnally when he'd put a single foot wrong. At least following one of Father Mac's lectures, Peter would feel he'd earned the right to ask for forgiveness. The right to be absolved.

As if on cue, the Bishop brought up the old Priest. "Frank and I would often share a bottle of Jamesons and gossip about your obsession with that raven-head publican." He smirked at the memory. "And he's been dead for over ten years!"

The younger Priest was beginning to lose patience. "Your point being…?"

Ted eyed him seriously. "This sin wasn't committed out of lust – out of covetousness. You're a man in love and as far as I'm concerned, there's no sin in that." He took Peter's hand and with a wink, added "But just in case – I absolve you, in the name of the Father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit."

The Bishop's benevolence was more than Peter could hope for. As he stood up to take his leave, he began to feel a little better until his superior continued –

"But mark my words, Father Clifford. There's no greater tragedy than love lost. Vow or no vow – marriage or no marriage – you'll rue the day you ever relinquish it without a fight."

From the meaningful look he gave him, Peter thought better than to contest the word of a Bishop.

* * *

Although they'd probably have to wait closer to three months to determine whether Leo was indeed producing sperm in his semen again, Assumpta decided that there was no time like the present to arrange an IVF session for as soon as he was able.

Listening to hold music was one of life's great levellers, the publican mused to the dulcet tones of Miles Davis. No matter your profession, whether it's CEO or cleaner, you'll have heard it at least once in your life.

With one ear to the receiver and the other crooked toward the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to whistle, Assumpta didn't immediately hear someone near the bar.

Then it all happened at once. The kettle whistled impatiently. The fertility clinic picked up the phone.

Peter approached the bar.

Hesitant over what to attend to first, Assumpta shot Peter a guilty smile while simultaneously arranging her IVF consultation and taking the kettle off the boil.

Now _that_ was multi-tasking. Her mother would've been proud.

What Assumpta didn't consider was the volume of her voice as she spoke into the phone.

"Hi, yes I'd like to go ahead with the IVF consultation. Yes. Yes. Macgarvey. M-A-C… yes that's right. Could you book us in for tomorrow? What about next week?" She sighed, audibly. "The week after then? Earlier if possible. Yes. Yes, Wednesday, that's fine."

When she returned to the bar, all except Peter were staring sheepishly into their pints, unwilling eavesdroppers to this particular nugget of information.

The curate tried to hide his crestfallen face. "Pint of Lager when you have a minute."

Assumpta approached the pump with care, aghast at how many flushed faces surrounded her. "Did everyone just hear that, then?"

The Priest nodded and shot her a sad smile, "I think you'd be advised to invest in an email account in future."

"You're probably right," she returned nervously, unwilling to catch his eye.

The Priest accepted his drink, careful not to touch the publican's finger as he did so. But his eyes couldn't help but linger for a spell on the slope of Assumpta's neck – the same neck he'd kissed barely a week ago. Or her mouth – her exceptionally talented mouth – that was all peaches and cream when he'd tasted it. Barely-a-week-ago.

_Pull it together, Peter. _

"Here's your change." Assumpta smiled weakly, leaving the coins on the bar.

She didn't know why her was here – was this a part of his penance? Did the Catholic Church instigate a Twelve Step programme for all lapsed Priests? She gasped – _was Peter here to ask forgiveness from Leo?_

Pouring the scorching water over her dehydrated noodles, Assumpta quietened her fearful mind. _He just wants to get things back to some semblance of normal,_ she reasoned. Perhaps we could all return to normal, one day. She looked over in his direction and caught him casting an eye along the low neckline of her dress. That day, she was sure, was a long way off yet.


	24. Chapter 24

Peter attempted to focus on the glass in front of him. Half full – or was that half empty? – with beer sloping nauseatingly from side to side. He blinked slowly and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. There was no doubt about it – _he was drunk. _

It hadn't been intentional but then it hadn't been by accident either. The first few pints, imbibed quickly and greedily, were Dutch courage – a tonic for his quaking nerves from being around _her_ again.

The fourth and fifth, well they'd been his defiant pints. To show the world and Assumpta with it, that his life was largely unchanged by their affair. He could quite comfortably spend and evening in the presence of this woman – her husband too, if chance allowed.

The sixth pint had challenged this theory. Leo had surfaced from his hidey-hole upstairs and following a kiss on the publican's forehead, which made Peter's blood boil, attempted to engage the Priest in small talk of some description.

The seventh and eighth pints quickly followed.

Then, it was _someone's_ bright idea to buy a round of Tequila – Peter's Achilles Heel of drink. After several shots, and a beer chaser (Pint Nine), he was drunk. Well-and-truly.

"Have you quite finished?" Assumpta emerged, stormy faced from behind the bar, holding out her hand expectantly.

The curate smirked, refusing to relinquish his glass. "Are you chucking me out?"

"I'm chucking everyone out," she sighed, wearily. "The pub's closing."

"Need any glasses collecting?" Peter replied hopefully, his finger running along her open palm.

The publican quickly snatched her hand away. "Have you gone mad?" she growled.

"Yes," he answered honestly, downing the contents of his tankard.

Assumpta's heart swelled for him. All evening Peter had resembled the comedic drunk Priest Ireland was famous for. The tourists were delighted, snapping shots of the man as he performed party trick after party trick – first his abysmal Sean Connery impression and then, more horrifyingly, his acoustic guitar session.

After buying a round of Tequila from that idiot barmaid Orla, Peter had proceeded to down measure after measure, asking out loud if anyone would like to volunteer for a Body Shot, his eyes falling conspicuously on Assumpta.

Even the locals seemed impressed by the Priest's drinking stamina – but in truth, they were probably as drunk as he. _It's Saturday night_, they'd wail by way of an excuse. _It's the last days of summer!_

Assumpta didn't feel much like partying, however. She didn't feel much like anything these days, apart from dehydrated noodles and hours-upon-hours of uninterrupted sleep.

She especially didn't feel like petitioning the very drunk Priest to leave the premises.

As the publican pulled him up to leave, her heart quickening from the close contact, Peter leaned into her grasp. For one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to kiss her but instead, Peter eyed her hungrily and whispered in a not-so-quiet voice, "I can still taste you."

As crude as they were – and as drunk and he was – Peter's words still sent shivers through her spine. After a meaningful look, the curate stood unaided and stumbled out of the door. Assumpta looked after him, cursing herself for wishing that he had stayed.

From nowhere, she felt a hand reach around her waist from behind. "Finished at last," a voice whispered in her ear.

The publican turned her head and kissed her husband on the cheek. Casting a disappointed eye over the Saturday night debris, she replied regretfully, "Not quite."

Leo smiled. "You get ready for bed. Me and the bar wench will take it from here."

Orla squeaked an indignant 'hey' at his description of her, bringing a wide smile to the landlady's face.

* * *

Forgoing her usual bedtime routine, save changing into pyjamas, Assumpta slumped exhaustedly into bed. She stretched her full height diagonally across the king size mattress – a sleeping position she'd grown far too accustomed to following a summer spent in here largely by herself.

Leo, having spent the previous week stowed safely away in the spare bedroom, would expect to be invited back into their marital bed some day soon. Would tonight be the night in question?

Assumpta groaned at the prospect, immediately chiding herself after. Why was she so reluctant to sleep with him again? His misdemeanour paled in comparison to her own, as yet, undisclosed transgression and all was forgiven, if not forgotten.

So what was preventing her?

_He has two thumbs and a collar around his neck._ Assumpta sighed, looking at the Church across the street. _That guy. _

Curling into a heavy heap on the bed, the publican willed her brain to forget him. With an audible whimper, she buried her head into her folded arms.

_It's over._ She reminded herself. _You're married._

As if on cue, a gentle tap resounded on the bedroom door.

"Everything okay" called a voice from behind it. _Leo_.

"Fine"

_No response._ Then, "Can I come in?"

Assumpta tried to think of an excuse but nothing plausible sprang to mind. "If you want," she relented, eventually.

Opening the door warily, Leo look almost disappointed to see Assumpta fully clothed. Neither said anything for a moment, choosing instead to share an awkward silence.

"Pub clean?" Assumpta asked, if only to dispel the unease.

"Crystal," replied Leo, in want of anything more meaningful.

He wasn't going to make this easy. "Great. Thanks." _Deep breath._ "Well, night then."

Instead of leaving, Leo paced around his former bedroom. Looking at the new bed-spread, bought in anticipation of an overnight stay from Peter which never materialised – in this room, anyhow – Leo muttered, approvingly, "Like what you've done with the place."

"It's not so different."

"Ay, it is." Running a single hand along the expanse of the floral quilt, he continued, "doesn't even feel like my bedroom anymore."

Assumpta took a breath, filling the full expanse of her lungs. "What would make it feel like your bedroom?" she asked, almost rhetorically.

"Spending a night in here would be a good start."

She searched his eyes. "Okay," she relented, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Okay," he agreed, closing the door behind him.

Assumpta moved up on the bed and gingerly peeled back the covers, sitting side on to face him.

Unable to disguise the hesitancy in her eyes, she watched as Leo approached her with caution. "Everything okay?" he asked, running a hand along her face.

"Fine" she offered, responding uneasily to his touch.

Leo reacted by tangling a hand in her hair and timidly reaching down for a deep and enduring kiss.

Assumpta returned it with equal diffidence, but not because she wanted to. She responded because he was her husband and it was the right thing to do.

Feeling his kiss intensify and pick up pace, Assumpta tried to ready herself for the possibility of going to bed with this man again. As Leo fell to his knees, moving his mouth to her neck, her thoughts turned to Peter, running his bottom lip along the ridge of her clavicle. When Leo sucked at her ear lobe, asking for permission to remove her Pyjama bottoms, all she heard was the memory of Peter's dulcet whisper, listing everything that he planned to do to her once he got her into bed.

The thoughts of Peter were helping. Feeling the heat, that familiar sense of urgency between her thighs, Assumpta shimmied down her trousers and wrapped her legs around Leo's waist.

Pushing her up against the foot of the bed – again, eliciting another memory in Assumpta's mind of being taken in that hotel room – Leo's breath quickened along with his kisses.

Just as she was ready, just as she was prepared to once again, hand herself over to his pleasure, Assumpta heard a strangled scream replace the sighs that he'd been making.

"No. No. No. No. Nooo!"

With a hand between his legs, Leo collapsed at her feet, assuming the foetal position on the floor.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Vasectomy. Reversal," he croaked, his face contorted with pain.

"Oh…" Assumpta couldn't suppress her smile.

"Assumpta!" Leo was aghast. "I'm in real pain here."

She resisted the urge to say that it served him right and instead, held a reassuring hand to his face. "Want me to call someone?"

"No!" he replied, resolutely. His face relaxed a little. "Guess that's why they tell you to wait three weeks."

Inwardly, his wife released a sigh of relief. Three weeks. Much better. By then she might finally be able to stop thinking about her time with Peter. In three weeks she'd probably have her marriage back on track.

But something told Assumpta that it was never going to be that easy.

* * *

_Thanks for all of your lovely feedback. Good spot on the Father Ted reference in the last chapter! _

_Drunk Peter was incredibly fun to write in this one, the Leo and Assumpta make out scene, less so! I'd like to hear your thoughts on either - or anything else in this story. And don't worry you M-rated cheerleaders out there, i've some juicy sex scenes on the horizon and (spoiler alert!) they'll only feature one of the Macgarveys._


	25. Chapter 25

_A bit of a shorter chapter here, but hopefully it'll have you grinning from ear-to-ear as it had me when I wrote it. _

_Thanks again for so many lovely comments. I was a bit nervous about some of the language in the last chapter (Peter's departing words especially!) but i'm glad they were received in the spirit that they were written in. _

_I'm only just managing to stay a chapter ahead from the published story so I fear updates may no longer be daily *sad, frowny face* but I am in the middle of writing a pretty explosive M-rated scene which even I am getting a little hot under the collar about._

* * *

By the time the IVF appointment came around, Leo had made a complete recovery. In the interim, he'd kept away from their marital bedroom – his previous injury a stark reminder of the perils that come from walking before you can crawl.

Peter had maintained a safe distance from the landlady for largely the same reason – he couldn't trust himself around her. They'd bumped into each other once or twice, each time exchanging nervous smiles and polite conversation; trying, as they might, not to visualise the other naked.

But soon, three weeks had passed with summer turning into autumn in the blink of an eye. Leo was now able to kiss his wife for longer periods and Peter could almost trust himself not to think about kissing her at all.

When Assumpta and Leo walked through the doors of the fertility clinic, they noticed that this too had undergone a period of transition. The walls, once white, were now a duck egg blue. The receptionist, previously a woman who'd peered at them behind horn-rimmed glasses, had been replaced by an affable man in his early twenties.

Even Dr Kirwan had jumped ship, or so it appeared. In her office, at her chair, sat a congenial gentleman who was a vision in white – from the roots of his hair to the colour of his socks. "Mr Macgarvey. Mrs Macgarvey – please sit. I am Dr O'Donahue."

Assumpta took her place beside Leo as he shook the old doctor's hand.

"You must allow me to apologise, before we begin. Dr Kirwan had to leave us rather suddenly just over a month ago and I have been tasked with taking over all of her cases."

Leo looked at Assumpta as if this was their excuse to leave, but his wife took a firm grip on his hand and smiled, "No problem, Doctor. I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"Excellent," the old Doctor laughed. "Now I've looked at your notes, so I'm well-apprised of your case. Can I just ask you, Mrs Macgarvey – when was the first day of your last menstrual period."

"June 6th" came her automatic reply. It seemed that this was every doctor's default question to her these days.

Dr O'Donahue pulled out an old fashioned cardboard circle and rotated it accordingly. "So, June 6th – that would mean that you're now in your second trimester, am I correct?"

Assumpta felt her breath hitch. Realising his mistake, she attempted to save the poor man's embarrassment through her nervous laughter. "I'm sorry but I think there's been some kind of mistake. I'm not pregnant."

The old doctor's face turned beetroot red, "A thousand apologies," he pleaded, horrified at his blunder. "I did wonder why your family doctor wasn't better suited for your antenatal care, but some patients, they prefer…" the doctor stopped, as he read over Assumpta's notes once more. "Wait, no – Dr Kirwan performed a blood test at your last appointment, is that correct?"

The publican's heart caught in her throat. "Yes, that's correct," she replied, warily.

The kind doctor's face spread into a smile, "and, I assume you weren't contacted again following that appointment?"

Assumpta shook her head, waiting with baited breath for what he was to say next.

"Ah, I see then. A mistake on my predecessor's part, I'm sorry to say." Dr O'Donahue paused, basking in this all too rare moment where he was the bearer of good news. "Mrs Macgarvey, you blood test at your last appointment revealed high levels of hCG. There's no doubt about it – you're pregnant."

Assumpta slumped back in her chair, processing the news that she'd waited so long to hear.

She gripped her husband's hand for support. In one beautiful moment, she expected his face to be a reflection of the overwhelming joy that she paraded, but as she finally turned to face him, all he wore was an expression of confusion.

Suddenly the undeniable truth came back to Assumpta. Leo could never have fathered this child – it was Peter's.

Her affair now out in the open, in the worst possible way, Assumpta searched her husband's face for a flicker of understanding. He stared back – his eyes brimming with hurt and incredulity. Leo didn't do anything else for a while, Dr O'Donahue's prattles merely white noise in the background. After a moment, he stood up and made his excuses to the good doctor: an urgent phone call of some description. He'd better wait for his wife in the car.

As he left, Assumpta – out of respect to Leo – tried to feel something other than the irrepressible happiness that was coursing through her as Dr O'Donahue asked her to hop up on the table so he could run an ultrasound. It didn't go unnoticed by the publican that her husband had refrained from disclosing her infidelity in public. Immediately grateful, it later occurred to her that Leo's silence probably had more to do with saving face than it was to protect her.

"Okay, Mrs Macgarvey, let's take a look shall we?"

As she felt the cool conductive jelly sit like a second skin across her belly, a crushing fear enveloped her. Assumpta hadn't known she was pregnant for the past three months. What if she'd done something to harm the baby? She searched her mind for the obvious pitfalls but immediately drew a blank. She'd been taking Folic Acid as a part of her fertility treatment and always ate very healthily. She didn't smoke, or take drugs – oh, but there'd been a couple of glasses of wine over the course of the summer. Would that have had an adverse effect –?

And then everything stopped.

Immediately Assumpta heard a steady heartbeat emanating from the monitor – just half a second out of time with her own. As she turned to face the screen, she saw the foetus – surprisingly baby-like – moving around happily, completely unaware of anything and everything in the outside world. _Already like Peter_, she smiled. It was her baby.

_It was their baby. _

"Completely healthy," the doctor concluded with a smile. "From the size, I'd say you were just on the 10 week mark – plus 2 weeks from your last menstrual period. Does that sound about right?"

Assumpta cast her mind back to 10 weeks ago. That faithful day in the hotel – the day that started it all. She imagined what Peter would say when he found out that their first time – his first time in 25 years – had yielded such an incredible result.

"Yes, that's possible," she grinned coyly.

After years of thinking it was anything but, Assumpta realised to her joy that indeed, anything was possible.


	26. Chapter 26

Leo stroked the hood of his bonnet, looking for the same emotional attachment that he had with his previous vehicle, his beloved Aston Martin.

He'd sold the old girl for the same reason that he'd bought it – to impress Assumpta. Replaced it with this four-door piece of junk with the promise to put the money he'd made towards their IVF endeavours.

_Fat lot of good that did him now. _

He'd meant to drive off without her – leave his wife and the bastard she carried to make their own way back. But here he was – ever the cuckold – waiting patiently in the car park for Assumpta to finish.

Right on cue, she appeared, leaflets in hand and what he could only assume were some print outs from her scan.

Her eyes misted with tears – of joy, he wagered, as opposed to guilt – Assumpta climbed into the passenger side of the car. Without a word, Leo put the car into first and drove off.

Somewhere between Dublin and County Wicklow, Assumpta began to speak "Leo – I"

"Don't. Just don't."

"I owe you an explanation,"

Leo tried to remain focussed. He tried to keep his attention of the road. "You owe me a lot more than that."

Assumpta didn't dispute this. "I'm sorry," she offered weakly. "I… It was a one-time thing, after you left. I never would have done anything like this if it weren't for that – "

"Oh, so this is my fault I suppose. Brought it on myself?"

"No. Not at all, Leo –"

Feeling his temper rise, Leo screeched the car to a halt on the hard shoulder of the motorway. Breathing steadily through his nose, he slumped forward against the dashboard, willing his rage to diminish.

After a minute of silence, he uttered in a voice so low that she could barely hear him, "One time only?"

Assumpta evaded the question at first but leaning back into her chair, she relented. He deserved to know the truth. "I meant one person."

"And no prizes for guessing who…" Leo bit, acerbically.

Peter's name hung in the air unspoken, unacknowledged, until Leo remarked, bitterly, "Never thought the Priest had it in him," and then, the question Assumpta had dreaded, "So – was he good?"

How could she lie? How could she be so brazen as to add yet another layer of deception to her sin? Every moment she deliberated, Leo came one step closer to the truth.

"It's a simple enough question," he pushed. His temper peaking, Leo slammed the dashboard with his fist and demanded, again "Was he any good? He must have had something that I didn't for you to keep on going back?"

Assumpta bit her lip as she felt her tears begin to fall.

With an indignant sigh Leo left the car, slamming the door in his wake, unsure whether any answer would have made him feel any better.

His wife watched him leave, a panic rising steadily in her throat. _Was this it? Was her marriage now over?_

Assumpta had visions of being left alone to raise this child, to support it and the business – she, left to slowly degrade as an afterthought in the swallowing abyss.

_No, she couldn't – she wouldn't be able to do this alone. _She had to go after him.

"I didn't plan this." Assumpta caught herself lying as she caught up with him out of the car. "I mean, if I could take it back – "

"Really? You would? Don't treat me like an idiot, Assumpta. I saw your face in the clinic. You couldn't be happier."

"Okay, fine" she relented, holding the palm of her hand to her still, reasonably flat stomach. "This is everything I ever wanted – but Leo, not without you. I want this baby with you. I don't want to do this alone."

Her tears were flowing freely now and more than anything, Leo wanted to go to her, pull her into his warm embrace.

_But the hurt – his hurt. _

"I forgave you – can't you forgive me?" she pleaded. "Can't we put this down to one bad summer? A few flawed months in an otherwise perfect marriage?"

It was an extraordinary ask. If the tables were turned, Assumpta doubted that she'd be so merciful.

Leo stared at her like she was mad. "I can't lose you," she begged.

For an emotionally charged moment they stood staring at one another, in the dirt of the embankment, willing the other to make a sign or a gesture. Willing the other to make this all go away.

The moment passed. Neither moved. Leo broke their eye contact first by turning his head slowly and pacing the side of the road, eventually stopping at the emergency phone where he remained for a while.

Assumpta climbed back into the car and waited for him to return, her head brim-full with questions and what-ifs. _Would Leo forgive her? What would happen if he even did?_

And then, as if by accident, her thoughts turned as they always did, to the Priest.

_How would she tell Peter? _

Assumpta visualised that it would go one of two ways: either Peter would explode with happiness, scoop her into his arms and weep tears of gratitude into her hair.

Or…

There was the very real possibility that he'd take this badly. Peter had felt Leo's return acutely enough. How would he react when he learned that the Macgarveys were going to raise his baby? That Peter's child would be calling another man, Da.

_Would he react differently if Leo were no longer in the picture? _

From nowhere she felt her husband climb back into the driver's side of the vehicle. Leo's face was as white as a sheet but he seemed calmer now.

"I just don't know – I…" he began eventually, breathing steadily through his mouth. "How can this ever work, with _that man_ just a few houses away?"

Assumpta considered her options. She considered the impossible situation she was in and then heard herself suggest, "We could always leave…"

Leo's eyes widened. "You'd do that?"

The publican nodded with fresh tears stinging the backs of her eyes, her brain just realising the repercussions of her offer. "If it meant keeping you. If it meant saving our marriage..."

"What about the pub – the business?"

"Niamh could take over at first then we could sub-let," she reasoned, carefully.

Assumpta watched her husband agree, tentatively at first with a few quiet nods and then with more enthusiasm as he realised the full extent of the move. "We could stay in my flat in Hampstead – there's a spare bedroom and it's close to my work."

"London?" she questioned. She was ready to move but was she ready to emigrate?

"You've lived there before. You did your degree there!"

"A long time ago…"

He retorted, "It's still the same. Fewer wine bars and more Craft Beer Pubs but essentially the same," But his wife didn't seem convinced. "It's where we fell in love, Assumpta."

_Where you fell in love, _the Irishwoman was about to correct but she had no follow up for that observation. Try as she might, Assumpta couldn't place the exact moment she'd returned his feelings. After everything that had happened, she couldn't even tell if she felt them now.

"What will we tell _him_?" Leo asked gravely, immediately snapping his wife from her reverie.

She considered the question – vacillating between the scenarios she'd posited, trying to decide how Peter would react to this colossal news.

"We won't," she answered before she felt the words leave her mouth.

Leo smiled, satisfied with her answer. "I'll start making the arrangements tonight."

* * *

_Bet you thought I had forgotten about you today? As if I even could._

_Bit of a Leo-centric chapter I know but, I hope you agree, entirely necessary! I promise though, normal service will resume shortly. _

_Reviews along with their authors are utterly adored!_


	27. Chapter 27

Peter perused the chiller in Hendley's for a pint of blue-top milk, his frustration growing by the second. There was Goats milk; there was Ewe's milk. There was Soya – Unsweetened and Original – Almond, Rice and Hazelnut milks. But try as he might, the cow's milk seemed illusive.

"Help you, Father?" A be-suited David Hendley sprung out of nowhere.

"Just looking for a pint of ordinary cow's milk."

"Of course. What type? Whole, Semi, Skimmed, Lactose-Free?"

Peter's eyes glazed, "Erm, the blue one?"

"Right you are Father - " and he disappeared to the other end of the shop.

"Enough choice for you?"

Peter turned suddenly, the soft Siren-call of his dreams intercepting his waking hour.

Assumpta looked lovelier than he'd remembered – luminous, even. Her hair had taken on a slight wave, cascading down in a swirl of lustrous chestnut brown. Both realising that Peter had been staring dumbly at the publican for longer than appropriate, the former lovers looked away shyly – their faces burning with embarrassment.

"The milk…" she added, by way of clarification.

"Yeah," he replied, adding nervously, "I think the only one they don't stock is Mother's Milk."

Assumpta's face fell. Had he said something wrong?

David rescued them from the awkwardness that ensued – "Here you are, Father Clifford. The cow's milk is now kept in the Everyday Basics section," he pointed, accordingly. "You were looking in our Milks of the World display."

Peter inwardly chortled but made a mental note of the location and paid what he owed.

Turning to say goodbye to his friend, he couldn't help but notice that her basket was overflowing with packets upon packets of Ramen Noodles, fizzy cola sweets and cheap Salt and Vinegar crisps.

"Do you have a twelve-year boy staying with you or something?" he gestured to the groceries.

"What? Oh, no." she laughed, nervously. "Just a hankering…"

Peter sifted through the basket. "Pretty major hankering…"

"Well, you know me."

He smiled, shrewdly. "Yeah, I do."

They shared a charged silence – another, in their long line of charged silences

"I should…" he gestured to the door.

"Yeah, sure. See you."

As Peter moved to leave he was intercepted at the entrance by a sombre-faced Leo Macgarvey.

For a moment, all the men could do was stare at one another. Leo clenched his fists and looking over to Assumpta, commented, "You went out without your phone again."

"Sheesh, I was just popping out for a moment."

"How am I expected to know where you are?"

Peter lingered at the door, suddenly fascinated by the Breads of the World stand, as husband and wife began to bicker quietly in the corner. As ashamed as he was to admit it, by witnessing the cracks beginning to show in the Macgarvey's marriage, he was going a long way towards improving his own state of mind.

The weeks since Leo returned had been decidedly trying for the Priest. Following his ill-conceived attempt to continue as if the past few months hadn't happened – culminating in a drunken spectacle he'd sooner forget – Peter had opted to keep a low profile. He hadn't been anywhere near the pub in weeks – citing embarrassment over his previous visit if anyone asked him. Instead, the curate kept himself busy, reading and re-reading his favourite passages of the Bible, drinking far too much and eating far too little.

As the argument ensued, Peter's presence appeared to go unnoticed which suited the Priest for a while. That all changed when Leo, whether on purpose or by accident, knocked the basket out of Assumpta's hand as he moved to grab her tightly by the wrist.

"Hey!" Something inside of Peter snapped. In a flash he was bridging the gap between the vying Macgarveys, one hand pushed squarely against Leo, flinging his adversary into the carefully arranged pile of celeriacs.

Leo was incandescent with rage. "Better watch your step, boyo," he warned, quietly.

"Leo – it was an accident," his wife pleaded, retrieving her own fallen basket.

Peter tried to get his breathing under control. With legs firmly rooted in front of Assumpta, he slowly lowered his arm, offering a hand to his fallen opponent who sat fuming on the floor.

Without taking it, the journalist got to his feet and brushed the muddied vegetable remnants off his shirt. Assumpta reclaimed her place beside him, holding his arm so tightly, it was almost restrained.

"Leo – " she warned, imploring him to leave.

But Leo's focus was firmly on the curate, a hundred thoughts vying for eminence, flowing through his mind.

_He slept with your wife. _

_He made a fool of you. _

_Hit him. _

Leo made a fist beneath Assumpta's grip. "Let's go," she begged again. _Don't do it – don't hit him, not here. _

While this was unfolding, David Hendley stood behind the till – one finger on the emergency alarm he'd insisted they install. When Leo allowed himself to be led out of the door, the shopkeeper's finger slackened, almost disappointed that he wouldn't get to try out his new toy.

Then…

"Fuck it." Leo shook his arm free and used it to take a well-aimed swing directly into the curate's face.

Following a single press of the button, Gard Egan was immediately at the door, wrestling the man away from Peter and shoving him face-first over the counter.

Peter stood up and rubbed the painful spot where he'd collided with Leo's fist, conceding that he'd probably deserved that.

As Ambrose read the assailant his rights, Leo looked at Peter's bloodied cheek and whispered, "Something to remember me by."

Unsure of his meaning, Father Clifford exited the shop, bypassing a mortified Assumpta without a second glance. Quite a crowd had gathered now, each whispering their own theory for the attack into their neighbour's ear.

_Most would have probably hit the nail on the head_, granted the Priest.

Assumpta watched Peter weave his way though gossip mongers, each supposing her own theory, fully believing that they were teetering on the periphery of the truth.

_If only they knew_…


	28. Chapter 28

_Thanks for your lovely comments about the ubiquitous fight scene! Now we've the not-so-ubiquitous love scene that I know you've all been waiting for..._

_The story's reaching its inevitable climax (sorry!) soon, but do keep your feedback coming. It might even encourage me to ditch work and finish and upload another chapter this week. _

_Anyway, without further ado..._

* * *

Peter examined the gradually-forming bruise around his eye socket. Leo had done a number on the Priest, that much was certain. So too was the reason behind such an attack. Men only react like that when it's either themselves or their wives who've had a hand lain on them. In three months, Peter had managed both. _No wonder he'd had this coming._

Taking a final gulp of the black tea he'd been forced to make when his carton of milk paid the ultimate price for his infidelity, Peter moved to the kitchen to make another, his progress interrupted by a knock on the door.

"My God, Peter you look terrible." Assumpta barged in without invitation, leading Peter toward the light of the window.

"You should have seen the other guy."

"I did," she replied, running a careful finger around the bruise. "I must say, he fared a lot better than you." Gesturing to the deep cut on his cheekbone, she added, "This needs to be cleaned"

As she led the curate into the kitchen, Assumpta couldn't help but the notice the level of disarray the place was in. Normally a clean and ordered area, the room looked as if it hadn't been tidied in weeks. Empty bottles of beer and whisky lined the worktops while mugs filled the sink.

Moving a pile of papers off a chair, she mouthed, "Sit" before making her way to the bathroom.

"You don't have to do this," Peter called. "Shouldn't you be bailing out your husband or something?"

"I should," she agreed, walking back into the room, first aid kit in hand. "But I thought he could do with a moment of _quiet_ reflection."

Peter snickered. "With all of those Egan kids running around in the house next door, I shouldn't think he'd get much."

The publican smiled briefly, before drawing her mouth back into the thin straight line she'd worn since her arrival.

"So, I guess that you told Leo?"

Assumpta looked up from her bandaging. "He sort of guessed."

"Very good guess"

"Well I'm not a very good liar," she replied, hoping for her sake that this wasn't true.

"So, how did he take it?"

"As well as you'd expect." Her patient winced as Assumpta treated the cut with anti-bacterial wash. "Sorry" she countered, begrudgingly.

While she attended to his wound, Peter felt happier than he had been in weeks. Just having her near him again, feeling her cool touch on his face, caused the beats from his heart to gain pace.

Once she'd finished, Assumpta held an open hand to the curate's cheek, she too basking in the proximity of her touch. As brightly as he smiled, Peter didn't look well. His face was drawn and pale – he looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

Noticing the ends of Peter's hair curl awkwardly into an unruly mane, she ran her fingers through the roots to the tips, muttering, "You need a hair cut."

Peter looked at her hopefully – _was she volunteering_? His companion beamed at his silent request, "Well I haven't trimmed a barnet since I was a Saturday girl at Gino's Hair Salon, but I could give it a go if you like?"

"I trust you."

_At least someone did..._ Assumpta smirked. Pushing her thoughts of Leo aside, the reluctant barber lifted the washing up bowl from the sink and filled a large ceramic jug with warm water.

"You sit here," she directed, swaddling Peter with a nearby tea towel.

Removing her heavy woollen cardigan, she tentatively inclined Peter's head back into the sink, leaning over him as she did so. A few seconds later the Priest's head was immersed in a trickle of warm water. He was immediately reminded of the recent Egan Christening – and the several hundred he'd performed before that. Is this how it felt to be welcomed into the warm embrace of the Church? Absolved of sin. Reborn.

Far smaller than an altar font, the shape and size of the basin didn't immediately lend itself to hair washing. As she poured, the water from the jug seemed to spill everywhere – Assumpta's cotton v-neck T-Shirt notwithstanding.

This became all the more apparent to the Priest as she massaged the water into his scalp. As the publican attempted to moisten the stands of hair on the nape of his neck, Peter found himself face-deep in her heaving décolletage – the cold water spiking her nipples through her barely-there shirt.

He squeezed shut his eyes in a futile attempt to un-see what he'd seen: a hint of skin-hued silk and lace, barely supporting Assumpta's grapefruit-sized breasts which, he could swear, were far bigger than he remembered.

As if this weren't enough, fresh torture found him when she accidentally grazed his chin with her ample breast, its hardened nipple very nearly finding the curate's mouth.

Feeling that familiar stretch in the fabric of his boxers, Peter shifted uncomfortably in the chair to save both of their blushes.

And then it was over. Assumpta pulled Peter back into a sitting position, unconsciously readjusting her gaping T-Shirt as she did so. From nowhere, his hairdresser had managed to source some long-stemmed silver scissors – a pair that Peter didn't even remember owning.

"Here goes nothing," she whispered with a hopeful smile, lacing her fingers along his brow to take the first snip.

Assumpta made light work of the rest of his head, her scissors deftly moving from one errant hair cluster to the next while her client sat watching, trying hard to remain perfectly still.

Peter endeavoured to keep his mind from remembering the last time he was at her mercy – tied, blindfolded to the bed, her mouth doing unimaginable things from beneath the covers.

To torment him further, Peter noticed that Assumpta's mouth was slightly ajar as she snipped – something she'd invariably done when she was concentrating. Normally harmless, an endearing habit Peter had nothing but affection for, today her open mouth goaded him, taunted him. Threatened to make him spill over the edge.

He wanted to kiss it. Close it shut with his salivating mouth – bridge the millimetre gap between them and rediscover what it was like to be in the hot embrace of Assumpta Fitzgerald.

The Priest squeezed his eyes shut from the temptation. Reciting last Sunday's sermon in his head, he managed to talk himself down from the ledge – to prevent his mounting desire from clouding his judgement completely.

_She's married… your vows _– he repeated internally, willing his perspiring forehead not to give him away.

"There you go" Assumpta's words snapped Peter out of his self-induced trance. He opened his eyes and found her face far further away than he'd envisioned it. She was stooped over him, her hands combing his hair beneath them, checking for an even length.

"Thanks," he murmured, watching her closely as she felt the ends with her thumb and forefinger.

Assumpta seemed to be taking longer than most would at examining her handiwork. As she entwined her fingers around strands of his hair – allegedly feeling for split ends – Peter couldn't help but close his eyes again and enjoy this moment for as long as it could possibly last. Her touch was soft on his brow – tentative, even. Almost as if she were caressing it out of sympathy. Stroking his head as a lover might at the end of a long and tiring day.

His resolve wavered as soon as Peter felt the heat of her breath on his temple – softly blowing the strands of shorn hair from his face. He grabbed Assumpta's hand in reflex, not entirely sure whether this was done in objection or mounting passion.

She gasped at the sudden contact but didn't immediately pull away. It occurred to Assumpta at that moment that this might be the last time Peter would ever hold her hand again – the last time they would be alone.

_If it's a sin, there'd be no repeating it. _

By now Peter's eyes were firmly open, his stern regard wiling her to make a move like that again. _Just try it, Assumpta. Just see what it'll do to me._

But just as the publican parted her lips to speak, Peter caught her in his firm embrace, silencing her moans of pleasure or of protest with the full force of his mouth.

Assumpta responded in kind and soon found herself on his lap, her legs straddled either side of his trembling thighs. Despite the several layers of distressed fabric between them, she could feel his steady hardness attempting to break free. Realising quickly that she needed more of this, more of him, Assumpta attempted to unhook the buckle of his jeans, her fingers too awkwardly positioned to prove successful.

His own frustration growing, Peter moved his hands to that delicious curve that separated her upper thigh from her behind. In one fell swoop he stood, lifting her the short distance to the table.

Impressed by this measure of his fortitude, Assumpta grew all the more frantic for the Priest's touch. Her kiss deepened as she shook free her jeans and underwear along with his.

And there she was. Completely naked in Peter's house – on his kitchen table. It was like something from his darkest fantasy. It occurred to Peter at that moment how many times he'd eaten at this table, visualising exactly this.

Except in his fantasy she was his.

This was all wrong. Peter had been so good – he'd managed without her for so long. Was he going to throw it all away for fleeting sex against the kitchen table?

They were on the cusp of copulation – the point on no return – when Peter heard himself whisper, "This is wrong. We can't do this."

Assumpta stared dumbly at the Priest as if he'd gone mad. Then, in defiance, silenced his protests with her mouth, inciting his tongue to find hers, goading him to continue.

"It's wrong," he continued, meekly, but his actions said something quite different as he returned her urgent caresses in kind.

"Tell me to stop." Peter panted helplessly, his mouth finding the curve of her neck. "You need to tell me to stop."

"I can't…" she growled, utterly enraptured by his words of injunction. "I won't."

"Stop me," he begged again, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

"Never."

And with that final absolute, Peter was inside of her, reacquainting himself with the fervour of her sex.

Assumpta gasped loudly as he entered, but that was the final sound. There were no more words. They'd said them all. All that existed was this moment. _This place._

The sensation of polished wood, her skin sliding effortlessly against the grain, was intoxicating to Assumpta as her lover slammed into her with growing haste. She attempted to move her hands to the small of Peter's back to better control his movements, but the Priest had other ideas.

With a twinkle in his eye, he forced Assumpta back against the table and dexterously wrapping each digit around her fingertips, pinned the woman firmly against the wood.

_It was his turn to call the shots._

Feeling her excitement mount as quickly as her orgasm, Assumpta made a show attempt of wriggling free. Delighted to discover that she was indeed restrained, she slackened her legs slightly, awarding Peter the freedom to take her, exactly how he wanted her.

He relaxed his pace until it was agonisingly slow but maintained the force of his movements, each thrust eliciting a short, sharp inhalation of breath from Assumpta as she trembled in anticipation below.

Peter gasped as he felt her muscles tighten around him, spurring the curate on to move faster and with greater force. Her climax was almost instantaneous after this. Sensing that now recognisable ache from the top of her head to the ends of her toes, Assumpta pulled back from Peter's kiss, three words formed silently on her lips.

_I. Love. You._

Horrified at her almost slip, Assumpta bit down on his shoulder instead, stifling her reckless discourse. These words would only land her in trouble. Now wasn't the time to lose sight of what was ahead.

Oblivious to his lover's inner torment, Peter soon found his own release, deeply and completely, his body still shaking in the moments that followed as he collapsed on the table beside her.

Gradually he grew accustomed to reality once again, the throbbing pain in his eye a stark reminder of what awaited them outside of these doors. He wondered briefly what Leo would do if he could see them now – stark naked and entwined like sea monkeys on the kitchen table.

_Probably give him more than a black eye_, Peter frowned knowingly.

The words Leo had uttered after he delivered his blow still bothered the Priest. _Something to remember me by. _

Was the Irishman going away? It was too much to hope. Then it hit him – harder than any punch could ever manage.

As if confirming his suspicions Assumpta held him tighter, burying her face into the pit of his underarm, trailing slow kisses along the length of his torso. Peter attempted to speak, choking on the lump in his throat upon his first attempt. He tried again, struggling to keep his voice level –

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

He didn't hear an answer. He didn't expect one. Instead, he felt hot tears burn against his rib cage as the trembling figure beside him freely wept.

Wordlessly Peter drew Assumpta in closer for comfort – hers and his own – before stroking the contours of her face and the expanse of her skin, committing it all to memory. Wordlessly she complied, tensing just a little when his hand found her burgeoning bump. He glided straight past it without a second's hesitation of course, trusting her implicitly.

Equally grateful and guilty for Peter's unwavering faith in her, Assumpta banished these bad thoughts and curled up tighter against him, feeling the weight of her sin in its entirety.


	29. Chapter 29

Niamh struggled to decide whether the farewell banner was slanting to the left or the right. When she looked at it from one angle, Assumpta's name seemed to sag reluctantly against the rafters. From the other side of the room, the first few letters of 'Goodbye' were obscured by a low-hanging beam.

Indeed, the only truly legible words on the banner were 'Bye Leo'. Niamh smirked. _How wonderfully insightful._

It had been a tough month since she found out her oldest friend was leaving home for pastures new. Niamh had guessed almost immediately the reason behind Assumpta's decision. You don't make that many trips to the loo unless _something_ is sitting on your bladder.

_Married and secretly pregnant with the curate's baby._ It was like something from one of Ambrose's romance novels. Inevitable, Niamh supposed, but she was still reeling from the shock of it all.

It had surprised Niamh that she didn't feel more for Leo following this revelation, but the journalist had been decidedly tetchy since he'd returned. _Any husband would when faced with this particular kettle of fish_, Ambrose had reasoned. But still, Leo picked at Assumpta over the little things. Going out unannounced for longer than a few minutes. Wearing something that may possibly hint at a pregnancy bump.

Once a trusted friend, she didn't even recognise him anymore. This whole leaving idea just reeked of Leo also. He wanted to get Assumpta away – separate her from the pack. And his wife just went along with it.

The fact that Peter hadn't been told about the pregnancy added insult to injury. Imagine keeping something so monumental from the man you'd been carrying on with for all of this time?

Priest or no Priest, he had a right to know. But she'd made a promise to Assumpta – she wasn't to tell Peter under any circumstances.

_She_ wouldn't say anything. But, he did have a right to know. Before it was too late.

"Looks good, Niamh." Assumpta tried to sound enthusiastic as she brought out more dishes for the leaving buffet.

As much as she tried to disguise it, her four-month bump was hard to miss. The empire-line of her navy blue dress only accentuated the curve of her abdomen.

_Leo would not be impressed. _

"So, food's done. Leo is on his way. Did you manage to find someone to watch the kids?"

"Yeah, Peter is coming over." Niamh bit her tongue a moment too late. Assumpta's face fell. "Peter's staying at yours tonight?"

"C'mon. You didn't really expect him to come here, did you?"

"Not anymore."

"Assumpta," Niamh chided. "After everything you've put that poor man through? What you continue to put him through…"

Ignoring her last comment, the publican busied herself with re-polishing the cutlery as Niamh continued.

"He has a right to know that he's going to be a father."

"Who's going to be a father?" A Manchurian accent interrupted their dialogue as Peter walked through the door.

Both women's jaws dropped. Assumpta thought on her feet with just one name springing to mind. "Ambrose," she yelped suddenly. "Niamh's pregnant again."

Niamh's face clouded over as she stared daggers into her colleague's head but still, the Priest bought it.

"That's great news Niamh. Congratulations!" he bent down to kiss her affectionately on the cheek. "Wow – I certainly didn't see that one coming!"

_You don't know the half of it,_ she only just stopped herself from replying.

Peter walked around the room, nodding his head at the decorations. "So, it's finally happening then."

"I guess so," the landlady smiled noncommittally.

For a moment neither said anything, choosing instead to focus intently on anything but each other.

"Well, best of luck with it all. The move and everything."

"Thanks. You too." Assumpta returned, inadvertently. "Well, you know."

"Yeah."

"Sure. Okay then."

Feeling immediately like the third wheel in this increasingly fumbled discourse, Niamh began to make her way into the kitchen.

"Niamh actually, before you go, I just came to ask what time you need me round tonight?"

Niamh immediately looked at Assumpta and then replied. "Well, if you'd sooner come here…"

"No, that's fine." Peter replied, almost too quickly. "I mean – I'm not really one for goodbyes."

Peter looked nervously over to the publican before immediately looking away again. Assumpta remembered all too well Peter's last goodbye to her. It was at his house, a little over a month ago, following her wordless admission that she was going. They had dressed in silence, trying as they might to avoid catching the other in their line of sight, and then it happened. Peter whispered, so quietly that she didn't catch him the first time, a single word. _Stay_.

_Please stay?_

He kept his eyes averted as he asked it. His shoulders hunched already in defeat, as if this were his final overture – his last attempt at winning her over.

She'd refused of course.

She had to. She couldn't stay, not like this. Assumpta considered the life burgeoning in her stomach. It deserved to have a real family – a real start. Not as the secret love child of the publican and the local curate and especially not with a single parent.

But today, as she looked longingly in the eyes of her former lover she questioned whether she'd made the right decision.

Would things be different if Peter knew that he was going to be a father?

"Six would be terrific then, if you could. It'll just be the girls and Kieran, though. David and the baby will be here with us."

Niamh's hushed tones interrupted Assumpta's train of thought, but it didn't matter anyway. Peter was already half way out of the door.

"No problem, I'll see you at six." Peter flicked his eyes over to where Assumpta was standing but only for a moment. "See you then," he muttered politely before taking the time to close the door softly behind him.

Assumpta was flummoxed. Was that it? Was that their goodbye?

After everything they'd been through – all that they had shared, was this their _roll credits? _Was there nothing else to be said?

Niamh, picking up on the landlady's silent rage, mumbled something about getting the kids their dinner and promptly left her to it. No one needed to be around Assumpta when she had a bee in her bonnet about anything, least of all this.

The publican leaned back against the bar, willing herself to feel something – to feel anything but bereft. As many times as they'd told themselves and each other it was over, Assumpta realised that now it really was.

_See you then_. With three insignificant words Peter was gone. Out of her life forever.

* * *

Sorry it's taken a while for the latest installment - it's the weekend at last though so hopefully subsequent chapters will be more forthcoming!

Reviews greatly appreciated!


	30. Chapter 30

_Right, so sorry for the delay chaps. Work has been manic! As always, reviews make my heart sing (as do more Ballyk updates and fics!)_

* * *

From the moment he left the pub, Peter walked around in a foggy haze. Ever since he'd found out Assumpta was leaving, he'd agonised over what to tell her to convince her to stay.

He had exhausted all of the obvious words. The strongest phrases he could think of had already been said – on more that one occasion – and the curate wasn't about to humiliate himself again with yet another rebuttal.

_No_, he reasoned. If Assumpta wanted to do something, there was no use in attempting to dissuade her. Momentary lapses on the kitchen table aside, she had chosen to try and make things work with Leo.

Once again, Assumpta had chosen Leo over him. She would always choose Leo.

Peter's heart dropped at the realisation. In a few hours he would lose her forever.

The curate tried to keep focused on the matter at hand – washing up the dinner plates while Aoife Egan sat at the table drawing with crayons.

"Father?"

Aoife's Godfather didn't hear her right away. Too lost inside his own head, the little girl decided. She tried again, this time with more urgency, "Father Peter!"

Snapped from his reverie, the elder quickly answered, "Yes…"

"Why do I have to call you Father when you're not my da?"

He smiled, warmly. "You don't _have_ to call me anything, Aoife."

"Mum says I do."

Peter sighed. It was a valid question. "I think it's because it's my job to look after everyone like I'm their father – love them as much as a real Dad would."

Aoife's face lit up, "You mean like Father Christmas?"

Peter couldn't help but laugh. "You know what, Aoife? I guess I do."

Contented, for the time being at least, the little girl returned to her drawing. As Aoife concentrated hard on keeping her colouring within the lines, yet more questions popped into her head. What came first, the colour orange or the fruit? What was snow made from? Why did the new baby have to be so annoying?

Aoife stared at her sitter's furrowed brow and guessed that he'd only probably answer one more question before packing her off to bed.

She'd better make it a good one…

"Father?" she probed, remembering something her mum had said earlier. "What's a bum in the oven?"

Stifling a laugh at the little girl's misnomer, Peter corrected, "I think you meant to say, a bun in the oven."

"Bun in the oven." Aoife repeated in a whisper. "Bun in the oven."

"It means having a baby but you shouldn't ever say it. Your mum wouldn't be very pleased."

"Mum's the one who said it in the first place!" Aoife shouted, incensed at Peter's stupidity. After a moment her little face lit up, realising what this might mean. "So if mum said that Auntie Assumpta has a bum in the oven, does that mean that she's having a baby?"

Everything stood still. Peter searched his goddaughter's face, waiting for her to elaborate. However Aoife, now immediately forgetting her question, had moved on to the challenging pursuit of stencilling.

Assumpta was pregnant? Of course she was. Suddenly everything made sense – Niamh's comment in the pub earlier, the weird cravings. She was having a baby.

_She was having his baby_.

Peter leaned back against the kitchen counter, his grin widening further than he ever thought possible as he basked in the magnificence of this truth.

But then the realisation hit. Assumpta had kept this from him.

Peter remembered Niamh's plea in the pub. _He has a right to know that he's going to be a father._

She hadn't even planned on telling him.

A wave of emotions coursed through the curate – hurt, disbelief but most of all, anger.

He looked at his watch. In a matter of hours, Assumpta was leaving Ballykissangel for good. He had to see her.

"Kieran," the Priest called, heading towards the door. "I'm going out for a minute. Watch your sisters?"

Kieran, barely looking up from his computer game, merely had time to mutter a muted, 'yeah' before Peter was out of the door.

* * *

Assumpta lingered at the back of the pub while Leo gave his rousing leaving speech to the decidedly packed room. However tempting, she'd managed to keep her eye-rolls to a bare minimum as her husband waxed lyrical about how much he'd truly loved living in Ballykissangel.

"I don't know whether it's the people or the place itself that I'll miss more, but I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for making me, a reformed city slicker, so at home for the past 15 years. "

Leo looked directly at Assumpta and continued "My wife and I, well. It's with heavy hearts that we leave this place and you fine people. But the pub is only being sub-let. We may still return, yet…"

This time, Assumpta couldn't help but succumb to another eye roll, a gesture that didn't escape the attention of the speaker.

"But, for the time being at least, we'll try our best to make the most of city life" Leo looked pointedly at his wife's stomach. "Make the best of a bad situation."

The publican's eyes darted immediately to the floor. She held a protective palm to the middle of her abdomen – _their bad situation_, as Leo had put it. _Just ignore him_, she inwardly told her unborn child. And herself.

Ignoring Assumpta once again, Leo raised a glass, "So, here's to you all. Cherished friends and neighbours. Don't be strangers."

A chorus of cheers erupted through the bar so loud that Assumpta almost didn't hear the door creak open behind her. As she turned, all she saw was him – Peter, with the most peculiar expression on his face.

Oh god._ He knew. _

Peter gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen, which she did, first checking that all eyes in the room were still facing forward.

Content that their exit had remained unnoticed, Assumpta slid silently into the back room. Peter was already seated at the table, his head in his hands.

"When were you going to tell me?" he uttered, presently, his eyes fixed firmly on the gingham cloth that adorned the table.

The publican silently took a seat beside him, her gaze too finding the criss-cross pattern of the table spread. "I don't know," she whispered softly, by way of a response. "How did you…?"

Peter stared at her incredulously. Of all the things she could have said, this is what she wanted to know? "Were you even going to tell me?" he asked instead.

Assumpta looked to her expanding stomach and felt an errant tear roll down her cheek. "I don't know" she shrugged helplessly.

At this Peter could no longer contain his anger. With a loud bang, he slammed his fist against the table, causing everything at the table, including Assumpta, to shake. In temper he rose, his chair scraping loudly against the linoleum, before pacing urgently across the room towards the back door.

Assumpta was sure that he was going to open it and leave, this room and her forever, but instead he lingered. Hanging his head heavily against the jamb of the door Peter took several deep and laboured breaths before eventually turning to face her again.

His eyes were softer this time but still brimming with hurt. She stood up to go to him, to comfort him, but Peter held out a cautionary hand. "Don't," he begged, but she persisted.

Timidly, Assumpta offered an open palm to the side of his face, which the Priest leaned into begrudgingly. He was so angry with her – he was so enraged – but how could he ever resist the irresistible softness of her hand against his cheek.

Slowly she cupped his face and drew his forehead gently against her own, tracing her fingertips through the uneven ends of his hair.

Feeling his resolved waning, Peter took a hold of himself and pulled away. She couldn't do this – not again. Untangling their knotted arms, he cast his lanky frame against the sink before presently turning to face her again.

As she stood, slightly awkwardly against the door, Peter could immediately tell that Assumpta's pregnancy had already progressed much further than he'd anticipated. Her attempts to hide her protruding stomach with a long pashmina around her neck were fruitless. If anything, the extra layers made her pregnancy all the more apparent.

He so badly wanted to touch her – to connect with the child growing rapidly beneath her skin. Instead, he pinched the sides of his hands and asked one of the many questions that plagued his brain. "How long?"

"16 weeks," she answered immediately, as if wanting to quell any question to whether the baby was anyone's but his.

"I meant, how long have you known?"

At first, the publican tried to dodge his question. "I haven't known for long – " she began, cagily. Upon noticing the skeptical expression that her companion wore, she continued, "I thought this was impossible. I thought that this could never happen – you have to understand…" She was rambling. She knew this, but could think of no alternative as her head searched hastily for her next thought. "I didn't know what to do," she conceded, at last.

"So you lied?"

"I had to."

"You chose to," he bit acerbically.

"Leo had just come back – I needed to make things work."

At this, Peter rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue impatiently.

"If you knew – if you understood what goes into making a fifteen year relationship work –"

"I KNOW!" he interrupted loudly. "You don't think I know? I've tried to make our relationship work for well over fifteen years. Some days it seemed damn impossible but I tried – every day I tried."

"It's not really the same thing…" Assumpta started, but her companion ignored her.

"You're impossible sometimes," he announced, tetchily. "Impossible to love – "

Peter paused, unsure whether to say, once again, what his heart urged him to. "But I do," he relinquished with a hopeless smile. "And I will. Against my better judgement. Always."

For a moment, it looked as if Assumpta hadn't heard a word he said. Still reeling from Peter's initial assessment that she was impossible to love, her face was pained with fresh tears. His subsequent revelation merely added salt to the wound of their hopeless situation.

Just as the publican gathered enough fortitude to reply, Peter placed a careful hand on the expanse of her bump and stroked it lightly.

"This is our baby," he announced proudly. "_Our_ baby."

They caught eyes for a moment but then the Priest snatched his focus back. With no more than a decisive nod he was gone. Out of the door and if she willed it, out of her life forever.

Assumpta lowered steadily onto the kitchen chair, searching for the spot on her stomach where he had touched moments before. It was too early, she was sure, but when Peter had held his hand there, she had felt light bubbles effervesce beneath the surface. Did the baby recognise his father's touch? Was it trying to tell her something?

Heavy footsteps from the bar to the kitchen snapped the pregnant publican from her trance.

"Why are you hiding in here? C'mon, there are drinks to be served."

Assumpta looked up at her husband. Try as he might to look jovial, there was no disguising the annoyance in Leo's speech. It was a common inflection, a tone of voice he seemed to reserve especially for her these days. Irritation tinged with a touch of hate. And regret. Regret that he couldn't love her in the same way that he did before she was carrying someone else's child. Regret too, that she had never loved him back.

"Leo…" she began gently. "I think we need to talk."

He husband nodded softly, understanding immediately what she was going to say next. It was over. _It was over._ If he were completely honest with himself, Leo would concede that it had never truly begun.


	31. Chapter 31

It was with tears, mixed with sadness and relief, that Assumpta found herself pacing the cobbled streets of Ballykissangel. It occurred to her that in fifteen years, she hadn't once anticipated that she'd feel this elated following the demise of her marriage.

There had been tears sure and, she expected, a very messy divorce, but at last Assumpta was free. Free from the shackles of marriage. Free from trying to make it work.

_Free to love another…_

Immediately, the publican found herself outside of the curate's house. She had no idea whether Peter would even be in. Wasn't he watching the Egan kids? With nowhere else to go and nowhere else she'd rather be, Assumpta fished out her spare key and unlocked that familiar burgundy door.

It was with surprise that she found Peter already there, sat staring silently at a painting on the other side of the living room wall. Without speaking, Assumpta pulled up a seat beside him and stared intently at the dreary Constable print that Peter was pretending to study.

"I've left Leo," she announced suddenly, trying desperately to keep her voice casual.

If Peter had any reaction to this news, he was hiding it well.

"I'm serious," she clarified. "I told him to move to London without me."

Still Peter remained impassive. Presently his gaze shifted to his cupped hands in his lap.

"Say something, please?"

"What do you want me to say, eh Assumpta? What is there left to say?" In irritation, Peter abandoned his seat and paced the length of the room.

"I thought that this is what you wanted, how you wanted things to be –"

"Trust me, this isn't anywhere close to what I wanted."

Assumpta searched his eyes in irritation. "Then what do you want? It's obviously not me and obviously not our baby –"

"I want you to stop reacting!" Peter snapped in irritation. "You're always flitting from one grand gesture to the next – first you get married out of the blue, then you start an affair with me – completely out of the blue. Then you dump me and give your marriage another go." Peter bit his lip, remembering only too well the hurt he'd endured as a result of that decision. "Now you're getting a divorce?" he asked incredulously. "Is that decision actually going to stick?"

"It'll stick," she assured him but the Priest wasn't convinced. Assumpta tried to quell her mounting rage. She hadn't expected this. Wasn't what they'd shared earlier in her kitchen an overture of sorts? As he looked adoringly into her eyes and whispered _'This is our baby'_, wasn't he begging her to realise her mistake? To rethink her decision?

"How can I convince you?" she added, imploringly.

Peter considered her words carefully, as if willing himself to feel the comfort that they so obviously suggested. A familiar sinking sensation that came with disappointment churned in the pit of his stomach. "You can't," he conceded sadly. "Just as I can never convince you."

Assumpta's confused expression goaded Peter to continue. "You wouldn't know if I was leaving the priesthood purely for the baby just as I wouldn't know if you only wanted me because you didn't want to do this alone."

A new darkness fell over the room. He watched as his companion blinked away bitter tears, accepting finally the impossible en passé they were in.

"We could try," she offered hopelessly. "For the sake of the baby."

"It's for the sake of the baby that we shouldn't."

At this, the publican's face crumpled once more. Peter dug his fingernails into his palms to prevent himself from touching her, from comforting the woman he loved. The woman he'd loved for so long.

When she'd finally got a hold of herself, Assumpta took a short and sharp intake of breath and headed for the door. Just as she was about to open it, her hand lingered on handle. She turned and looked meaningfully at Peter as if her next revelation were the magic words, the solution to all of their problems.

"There's the fact that I loved you too," she whispered hopefully. When Peter didn't say anything in return Assumpta looked shyly at her feet, murmuring quietly and deflatedly, "There's always that."

Although his expression revealed nothing, Peter's stomach was doing cartwheels. _She had loved him? Did she still?_

Unaware of his internal monologue, Assumpta felt her heart sink as she walked mournfully towards the door and reached again for the handle.

"Loved?" he asked hopefully. His voice was no louder than a murmur but it stopped the publican dead in her tracks.

Assumpta felt hot tears of relief escape her eyes. "Love," she clarified definitely as Peter walked over and took both of her hands between his own. "Love. Always love."

Even before she managed to finish her words, Peter had scooped her into a full-body hug. He kissed her head, her eyes and then, hesitating briefly, her mouth, sinking deeply into his favourite of all places. His favourite place to be.

Gasping for breath, he stuttered, "Are we really going to do this?"

"We'd better be."

"There's a long road ahead, you know. It's not going to be easy." Peter warned. "I mean, my hands are completely empty. There are some things I could never give you – some things you might never have."

Assumpta smiled widely against Peter's mouth. "Who said I ever wanted what I couldn't have?"

Oblivious to her intimation, Peter kissed passed Assumpta's private smile, sinking deeply into the crevices of her upturned mouth.

As his lips explored hers joyfully and his hands found the surface of her pregnant stomach, Peter's heart and his head were completely decided. This was all he had and all he would, ever truly want.

* * *

_Thanks for the lovely reviews you've all been leaving for this story. I have one more chapter in mind, an epilogue of sorts, which I hope to finish over the next few days. _

_Your thoughts on this chapter are greatly appreciated. Was it the finale you had all hoped for?!_


	32. Chapter 32

As a new year dawned, so too did a plethora of exciting developments in the lives of the Clifford-Fitzgerald's.

First came word from Rome that Peter had been released from his vows. Far cleaner and earlier than he'd expected, Peter had a feeling that a well-meaning word from Bishop Linehan had expedited the process somewhat.

Next came the unexpected news that the Macgarvey marriage could be dissolved far sooner than anyone had anticipated. Because the ceremony took place in England – under English law – and Leo had resided, at least in part, in the UK for the majority of their marriage, the divorce was finalised in a matter of months.

Assumpta had to relinquish a great deal to her former husband to achieve such a prompt settlement. The flat in London and the substantial sum accrued by Fitzgerald's Holiday Lets all went directly to Leo. In return, his former wife was offered a speedy divorce while still managing to retain sole ownership of her family business.

The third development came in the early days of the New Year at Assumpta's final ultrasound appointment. As Peter gripped his fiancée's slender fingers – now sporting his mother's diamond engagement ring – he saw, at last, the unmistakeable outline of an almost fully-term baby.

"Cooking nicely," smiled the kind, white-haired doctor, to the relief of the prospective new parents. "Do you want to know the sex?"

Assumpta looked expectantly at her love, who returned her questioning glance. "Do you?" she asked.

"Do you?" he replied.

It didn't matter of course. This baby was going to be loved no matter what, but their excitement got the better of them. "Go on…" she implored the doctor.

"I think you'll be expecting a son in the not so distant future."

Wide smiles adorned the faces of the happy couple. "A boy, really?" grinned Peter excitedly. He kissed Assumpta squarely on the forehead and felt a happy tear gather in the crook of his eye socket.

Assumpta, equally delighted, remembered her dream – a boy, with the same hazel eyes as his father and a shock of curly brown hair like her own.

_Yes. A boy. That'd do. _

It was to be expected that not everyone shared the enthusiasm for the news, or indeed the pregnancy, that the happy couple did.

Those closest to Peter and Assumpta were steadfast in their support however and rallied around the pair when the rest of the village did not.

In time, the others would come around though. People always did. For now though, the pair held court in their own private nirvana – just Peter, Assumpta and the life they'd created – their unborn son who was currently still without a name.

"Judah?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Just thinking out loud." Assumpta swatted Peter with her book, tackily entitled _Cool names for babies_. "This baby could arrive any day now. We can't keep calling him Bump."

"Okay, then. How about Peter?" he asked with a wink.

"Not bloody likely."

"Gabriel, then?"

Assumpta raised her eyebrows, "Seriously?"

"Okay, not a fan of the biblical names…"

"I'm fine with the biblical names, just not the bloody stupid ones."

"Matthew? Mark? Luke? John?" offered her companion as he returned to his book.

"Veto. And don't be smart." The publican grumbled. "What's this you're reading anyway?" she asked presently, nudging the brick-shaped paperback in his hand.

"Moby Dick."

"Oh, put my reading to shame why don't you." Assumpta flipped her page snippily. "What about Zachariah?"

"Veto. It's a good book."

"I know, I've read it." She buried her head beneath his arm. "So who are you rooting for then? Moby Dick or the whale?"

"Moby Dick is the whale!" he laughed. "I thought you'd read it?"

"Ages ago…" she relented. "So, go on. Moby Dick or the Captain, then?" she poked out her tongue. "Told you I'd read it."

Peter smiled, wistfully. "Captain Ahab, I guess. I know what it's like to chase after your white whale."

Her face thundered. "Are you calling me a whale, Peter?"

He laughed heartily at Assumpta's feeble attempts to hit him. After a second, she relented, collapsing her head into the warmth of his lap.

"I feel like a whale," she offered, eventually.

"You look beautiful."

She smiled, rubbing her stomach. "Well if I am a whale, I guess this little tyke should be called Jonah."

Peter drew her in closer, remembering the dream he'd had all of those months ago in the Vestry. It was no Ishmael, but it'd have to do.

"I like Jonah," he said, matching the caresses of her bump.

"Jonah," she tested the name. "Jonah Clifford. That's settled then."

Peter smiled and fingered the diamond ring on Assumpta's finger before cupping again, the swell of her stomach. _Yes. It was,_ he agreed.

And something told him that it always would be.

* * *

_There you have it, now complete. And a well-earned happily ever after for Peter and Assumpta. Thanks for the great comments you've been leaving for this little story. I hope to start another again soon, but I need for work to fire me first so I actually have time to write it! _

_Until then, your comments for the fic as a whole are greatly appreciated. And writers, keep up the other Ballyk stories! There can never be enough imho._


End file.
